Unforgiven
by Bookworm06
Summary: A sequel to Grissom's Heart, and set 8 months after the events in that story. Life is looking pretty good for the Grissom family. Or is it? Co-written with JellybeanChiChi
1. Chapter 1

_A/N When I wrote Grissom's Heart, I never expected to write a sequel to it. My Muse had different ideas on the matter and this is the result. It may help to read Grissom's Heart, if you've not done so, as there are references back to events in that story. It certainly wouldn't be possible without the amazing JellybeanChiChi, as beta her help and suggestions are invaluable._

* * *

Prologue

The two uniformed police officers stood with their arms folded as they took up residence in the small back office of a Mesquite, Nevada, gas station. They reviewed black and white CCTV footage of the station gas pumps.

Car after car came into view. One in particular caught their attention. It was clear the car wasn't in too good a shape; there was a dent in the bodywork, above the right front tire and another dent on the driver's door.

But seeing the car made one of the officers stand up straighter. "Hey. Go back to a few seconds. I want to check out the car at pump 2."

The gas station attendant complied, rewinding the video until the battered sedan entered the forecourt. The driver turned to face his passenger, and then looked into the back seat, before exiting the car, and then filling the car up with gas.

"Pause it right there."

The officer peered closer to the monitor as if he could physically climb inside and get a better look at the driver and the passenger. He frowned, concentrating on the driver's face. "That's gotta be a kid in the back seat."

His partner was now becoming intrigued by whatever had piqued his partner's interest. "Could be. What's got you so rattled?"

The officer ignored him, as he busily wrote down the Utah licence plate — _C68 D83_. He turned to the employee. "Do you remember this guy?" he asked pointing to the man on the screen. "Maybe notice his passenger; a young girl perhaps?"

The employee shook his head. "I didn't take much notice, he paid by cash and left without causing any trouble. He did seem in a hurry though."

"Happen to notice which why they headed?"

"Toward I-15," the employee said.

While a tour on that major highway could lead to many places, the officer had a singular hunch. "Vegas," he said thoughtfully, before grabbing his radio and calling his captain. He offered a quick synopsis of what happened.

"Are you sure it was them?" the captain asked.

The officer answered in the positive.

"I'll contact Seattle PD," the captain reported. "Out of professional courtesy, I'll inform LVPD, too. They've got a good head start on us, but maybe their luck is about to run out."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N Thank you for the reviews. As always they are very much appreciated. Many many thanks to JellybeanChiChi, for the awesome beta._

* * *

Chapter 1

Sara leaned back against the chair, with her arms folded across her chest. She held a feeling of satisfaction knowing she did her job well as Officer Mitchell guided the suspect out of the interrogation room and back to the holding cells.

She had finished a week of investigating the murder of a victim of domestic violence. Sara tried to help the young woman escape from the clutches of her violent husband, and the brave woman left him.

But neither Sara nor the victim had accounted for the husband's dogged determination to find his wife. Despite all the precautions put in place, he'd tracked her down, and beaten her to death.

Beside Sara, sat her supervisor, Karson Hess, who had worked the case with her. He shared in Sara's satisfaction of a job well done, knowing that this case had been a difficult one for her.

It had been five months since Sara joined the day shift, and Hess had come to respect her work ethic and her dedication to seeing a case to completion. Initially, there had been some residual animosity from his other team members at Sara's arrival, partly due to the rivalry that had existed between days and graveyard shifts, and partly due to her marriage to Grissom. Yet, Sara had risen above it, and proven her doubters wrong.

But Sara couldn't deny the transition to dayshift had been hard. She missed the sense of family she had with the graveyard shift, and the lab seemed different without Grissom. She still half expected him to walk through the door, with assignments in hand, or test results that would break the case, or his face alight with childish delight over his beloved bugs. She missed him – and her son, Daniel, far more than she ever expected.

"Well, that's one nasty son-of-a-bitch, that I'm truly glad is off the streets," Hess commented when they were alone. "You did a great job, Sara."

Sara shook her head slightly, with a slight lift of her shoulders, shrugging off his compliment. "It was a joint effort, " she replied, her eyes drifting towards the door. "But it was too late for the victim."

"Don't beat yourself up, Sara," Hess said rising to his feet, and Sara followed suit. "You did everything you could, if not more. You got her to trust you, and that wasn't easy for her to do." He paused to check his watch, before glancing up at Sara.

"Well, I think that wraps everything up. Go on, get out of here, and go see that husband of yours."

Sara's eyebrow rose as she glanced at her own watch. "There's still paperwork, to follow up on."

"We had a good result, and I feel like being generous. Besides, I appreciate that you came in on your day off, to help wrap up the case. The rest can wait. Now get out of here, Sidle, before I change my mind."

Sara smiled as she quipped, "Careful, you'll be accused of favouritism next."

Hess chuckled.

"Were you always this stubborn with Grissom when he was supervisor?"

Sara chuckled. She had come to like working with Hess, more than she expected. But he was no Grissom.

Sara nodded, her grin broadening. "Yeah, I was. We all were at some point, but we still respected him. He brought out the best in us; he still does with the students he teaches."

"Does he miss it – the lab?" Hess asked curiously.

Sara was silent for a few minutes, before she finally answered with, "We still see Catherine and the others, occasionally, and he misses the lab sometimes," Sara acknowledged, "But the paperwork… not so much."

Hess nodded in silent agreement with Grissom's general assessment. He gathered up the files and evidence that still lay on the table, glancing at Sara, from the corner of his eye. He sighed.

"I'm serious, Sara," he said as he turned to face her fully. "Get out of here, before I have the need to come up with a trumped up reason to suspend you. Go see that husband and little boy of yours."

* * *

Grissom spared a quick glance at his cell phone, as the last of his students filed out of the lecture room, for lunch. He sighed, feeling a flash of disappointment that he'd not yet heard anything back from Sara. It hadn't been the first time. Over the past week they had managed to miss calls from each other. He knew that she'd been working a difficult case, and he hated the fact he couldn't be there to support her.

He'd been teaching at the Los Angeles City College at the behest of the dean, who needed someone to fill in for a fellow teacher who had taken ill. An arrangement had been agreed upon, with the College paying all his expenses for the past three weeks.

Although he'd enjoyed teaching at the college, he was glad that his temporary contract was up and was looking forward to spending a few days with Sara, Daniel and his mother in Santa Monica, before heading back home to Vegas.

The thought of his wife and son brought a brief smile to his face as his eyes glanced at the yellow-gold band on his finger. In a month's time, it would be their first wedding anniversary. He thought he'd reached a point in his life where he couldn't have been any happier. He had a job he enjoyed, a wife he loved beyond measure, and a son he adored with all his heart. The last eleven months had brought him more joy than he ever thought was possible for one man to receive.

The ache in his heart at missing them spurred him to call Sara's cell, once more. He held his breath, hoping that this time she'd pick up. He sighed as it again rang to voice mail. He was about to hang up when he decided to leave a message; he's voice loaded with longing.

"Hi honey. Sorry I missed your call; it's been a hectic week. I'm almost wrapped up here, and I can't wait to see you in Santa Monica. I've missed you, so much. I love you. Give my love to Dan."

With another heavy sigh he hung up and then deciding not to head to the staff room, or head out to near by coffee shop, he opted instead to mark off papers and essays, before preparing for his next lecture just after 2 p.m.

When the last of his lectures had ended for the day, Grissom headed to his office, to finish off the remainder of his packing. He'd made good progress during the week, not wanting too much of a delay in meeting up with Sara. The drive to Santa Monica was just under an hour, but even that was an hour too long.

Just after 4:30 p.m he'd sealed the last box and placed it on the floor with the rest of the boxes so he could put them in his car the following morning. He left the college but didn't venture far on his walk. He stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth slack with surprise as Sara stood grinning at him.

It took a moment for his brain to acknowledge that she was really there, before he hurried the few steps to her side, and dropping the briefcase on the pavement, pulled her close as he kissed her.

When they finally pulled apart he was full of questions. "Honey, what are you doing here? Where's Dan?"

Not waiting or allowing her to answer, he pulled her into a tight embrace again. "God, Sara, I've missed you so much!" he murmured his mouth again seeking hers, as his arms tightened around her.

After some minutes Sara gently pulled back from him, and for the first time, Grissom realised that his mother was standing off to the side with a sleeping Daniel in a stroller.

With a delighted grin, he picked up his briefcase with one hand, and grasped Sara's with the other, before heading towards them.

" _What are you doing here?"_ he signed to his mother. " _I thought we were meeting at the house in Monica?"_

Instead of answering her son, Betty smiled and embraced him, which Grissom was only too happy to return.

"We wanted to surprise you." Sara explained as Betty and Grissom broke apart. "I've only just got your messages," Sara added, recalling the longing she'd heard in her husband's voice. "We've missed you, too."

Together they walked back to the hotel and by the time they reached Grissom's room, Daniel had awoken. On seeing his Daddy, the most delightful gap-toothed grin brightened his whole face.

He still greatly resembled Grissom, but the vivid blue of his eyes had changed to the same warm brown of his mother, also inheriting the Sidle smile, that Grissom adored so much. His hair was a lighter brown, but with the same soft curls of his mother. So far, he remained unaffected by otosclerosis.

Betty and Sara sat on the double bed, watching fondly as Grissom played with his son, whose delighted laughter soon filled the room. They talked of going for dinner, but opted instead for room service.

* * *

Finally Daniel grew sleepy. After giving him a bath and changing him, Grissom settled the baby down for the night. Shortly afterwards, Betty left them to themselves to head to her own room.

Betty refused her son's offer to walk her to her door. " _Stay with Sara. A husband needs time alone with his wife. We have plenty of opportunity to spend time together as a family."_

She kissed his cheek, before slipping from the room.

Grissom stood with his back against the closed door with a sigh of relief that they were finally alone. As much as he loved his mother, he'd wanted nothing more to be alone with his wife and son.

Sara approached him, the same relief at finally being alone together on her face. He moved from the door, meeting her halfway, with his arms outstretched, drawing her into a tight embrace as their lips met in a passionate kiss.

Slowly, he guided her to the bed, and gently lowered her down, their lips never breaking contact, as he lay beside her, his leg draped over hers.

He groaned softly as Sara kissed his neck, her hands already unfastening the buttons of his shirt. His hands travelled the length of her thigh and lifted the hem of the summer dress she was wearing.

She gasped, as his caress ignited the slowly burning heat that had burned since their reunion.

She rolled them over so she was lying on top of him. The kiss deepened, as anticipation built. Grissom wrapped his arms around her, and slowly unzipped her dress. Sara shivered as his fingertips brushed against the bare skin of her back.

Sara drew back breaking the kiss, and grinned seductively as she moved against his erection, eliciting an appreciative growl from her husband.

"Someone has definitely missed me," she said, moving against him again. His breathing hitched up a notch, as his hips bucked upwards.

"You have no idea just how much," he moaned as he sought her mouth as his hands caressed down her arms, removing the straps of her dress as he did so.

Sara pulled back again, lifting the dress over her head, and jumped as Grissom moved under her to leave a trail of kisses from her stomach to her breasts, his large hands exploring her body, quickly removing her bra.

His name was a whispered breath of desire as her hands raked through his hair, as she arched into him craving his touch as much as he wanted to give it, as his tongue teased first one nipple and then the other.

She pushed gently against his shoulders, following him down as he lay on the bed.

"You're overdressed," she complained, kissing his neck, and nibbling his earlobe, as she pushed his shirt from his shoulders.

She kissed his chest, her tongue flicking over his nipples, before moving down his stomach, her hands making quick work of his belt and zipper, feeling the throb of his erection through his slacks.

She pulled them down, along with his boxers, freeing his glorious erection. She disappeared briefly, as she made quick work of his shoes and socks, before completely tugging them off.

" _Sara_!" Grissom gasped, sinking deeper into the mattress, turning his head towards Daniel's cot. Barely registering Daniel's still slumbering form as all coherent thought left his mind as the exquisite pleasure of Sara's mouth on him engulfed him from head to toe.

He's hips bucked upwards as he gasped. " _God, Sara!"_

If she continued like this, he wouldn't last much longer.

As Sara lazily stroked him, he bucked upwards and let out an audible gasp.

"Sara. I'm not going to last if you keep that up," his voice strained. Breathing in quick pants, he dug deeper into the mattress as Sara continued her ministrations, before she allowed him to tug her upwards.

He rolled them over, glancing quickly at Daniel. Assured the boy was still asleep, Grissom returned his attention back to Sara, leaving a trail of kisses, from her jaw line to the base of her throat. Then down to the swell of her breasts, fuller now since her pregnancy and nursing Daniel.

He kissed his way down her stomach to the apex between her legs, bestowing a kiss on the bundle of nerves there, and her hand fisted into his curls as she bucked upwards, meeting his mouth.

She mewled with need. "I need you now, Gil," she moaned, trying to tug him upwards.

His tongue flicked over her, teasing instead, her back arching as she clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the moan of pleasure.

" _Gil_ ," her tone pleading with need, as she tugged him towards her once more. This time he complied, smothering her mouth, his tongue sliding over her bottom lip before entwining with hers.

"I love you, Sara," he whispered when he drew back, breaking the kiss. "So much."

"I love you too," she returned, her fingers combing through his curls before pulling him forward and kissing him again.

She hummed as he slid inside her, kissing his neck and shoulders. Her fingers traced down his spine as her hands travelled down his back, as they rocked gently together.

Grissom had wanted to make slow sweet love to his wife, but their desire for each other after three weeks apart and the anticipation that slowly built, proved overwhelming.

Her back arched as he gained speed, thrusting harder as her walls surrounded him, she arched her back, as her knees hooked around his thighs, drawing him deeper inside her.

So as not to disturb Daniel, Grissom claimed her mouth capturing her moan, as she did his, as they exploded together. He fell to the side, his body covering her, breathing heavily.

Sara's hands travelled down his back, slick with sweat and kissed his damp curls and face, and shoulders, before wrapping her arms around him. Grissom hummed appreciatively, in no hurry to move, even as he softened inside her. He just barely managed to lift his head, to press a kiss to her flushed cheek, and shoulder.

As their breathing slowed, their heart rates returning to normal, exhaustion swept over their bodies, and Grissom barely had the energy to roll off her. She snuggled into his left side, kissing him sleepily, as his arms wrapped around her, his fingers trailing lazily along her arm, before sleep too claimed him.

* * *

The next morning, Sara awoke to the delighted giggles of her son, as Grissom played with him. She lay quietly watching them, with a gentle smile on her face. Daniel adored his father. Sara didn't get much of look-in when Daddy was a round. He had the power to wrap them both around his little finger, but Grissom was especially vulnerable.

Noticing that she was awake, Grissom pulled a face at son, before moving to her side, and kissing her in greeting. Daniel batted his face playfully, before giving Sara's hair a playful tug.

Carefully disentangling the boy's fingers from her hair, Grissom kissed her again.

"I was about to head for the shower, but this little pupae decided it was the perfect time to play."

As Grissom disappeared into the bathroom for his shower, Sara decided that she and Daniel could join him, and save a little time. Just as she had unsnapped his onesie, there was a knock at the door.

Thinking it was her mother-in-law; she put her son in his travel cot, before grabbing Grissom's shirt, quickly fastening the buttons as she made her way to the door.

It wasn't Betty, but a short, woman in her early forties; her blonde hair cut short and styled in a pixie cut. She stared at Sara in some surprise, before trying to regain her poise.

"I was looking for Gilbert," she stated.

"He's unavailable right now." Sara explained, as they both heard the shower running. Thinking that it was college business that had made this woman come knocking at her husband's door, she added, "Has it something to do with the college? I can pass on a message…"

The woman gave Sara a hard look, as her gaze racked over her from head to foot.

There was a bitter edge to her voice as she replied with, "It's a bit more personal than that, since he's been sharing my bed for the last two weeks."


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you all for your reviews, they are always appreciated. Another amazing beta, by JellybeanChichi. This certainly would not be possible without her help._

* * *

CHAPTER 2

Sara took a deep breath, and stood a little taller hearing the woman's words. She raised an eyebrow while giving the woman the once over. Sara's shocked reaction prompted the woman to have a smug look. She was dressed in a silver-gray pants suit, the top button of her white blouse open at the throat. It was clear that she thought of herself as some kind of prize.

The woman's audacity caused Sara's anger to rise while her blood rushed furiously through her veins. But she forced herself to remain as calm as she could, fully aware that Daniel was in the room.

"And I'm his wife, and have been sharing his bed for over three years," Sara stated in a scathing tone.

The other woman's initial smug look faded as her face paled.

"His wife?" her assured tone evaporated. She had yet to cross the threshold of the room, but no longer had the confidence to take a step forward.

Grissom appeared at the door, half dressed after his shower, drawn by the voices at the door.

"Meredith, what are you doing here?" he asked clearly surprised on seeing her.

Sara turned to face him, a slight frown on her face. "Apparently you've been sharing her bed for the last two weeks," she informed him.

His right eyebrow soared into his hairline, as his lips thinned into a thin angry slash. His normally deep ocean blue pupils darkened almost to black. His gaze hardened as he appraised the woman before him, and Sara knew he was truly angry.

"I've mentioned, more than once, that I'm married, Meredith."

He'd kept his voice low, despite his anger, aware also of Daniel's presence. He quickly realized he was dressed only in his slacks with a towel around his damp shoulders. And although he had more to say, Daniel's cry was reason enough for Grissom to bring this to an end.

With nothing but a furious glare, he slammed the door on Meredith. Sara leaned against the door as Grissom strode towards their son, quickly picking him up in an effort to soothe him, purposefully keeping his back to Sara.

Sara continued to lean against the door, watching her husband with their son, as the silence stretched out between them.

After a few minutes Sara knew he wasn't going to voluntarily offer an explanation. "Well? Aren't you going to tell me what all that was about?"

Grissom sighed. This wasn't quite the start he'd had in mind for their small family vacation together.

"Her name is Meredith Parker. She took up a position a week before I did. There are four of us, altogether, in the department, and Meredith is the only woman. One evening Roman, one of the tutors and I had dinner at a nearby restaurant. Meredith was there, and Roman invited her to join us. As the night progressed, she became a little worse for wear. She insisted on walking back to the hotel. Since it was within walking distance, and we were staying at the same place, I offered to walk her back to her room.

"She misinterpreted my intent, and tried to thank me with a kiss, but I stepped back, and informed her I was a married man. I promptly left her, knowing that she was safely in her room."

"What happened, after that?" Sara wanted to know, pushing from the door, and walking over to them, as Daniel stretched his arms out towards his mother.

"Nothing was mentioned after that," Grissom sighed, as he rummaged around for a clean shirt. "I honestly thought the matter was resolved, Sara."

"Then how did she know which room to come to?"

Grissom paused in buttoning up his shirt as he turned to face her.

"I'm sorry that you've had to go through this, honey, but the simplest answer is, that everyone knows where everyone is staying. I only offered to see her safely back, because I was returning to the hotel anyway. I put the matter down to the alcohol she'd imbibed. When nothing was mentioned at breakfast, I thought the matter was resolved, and we could put the whole thing behind us. It was wishful thinking on my part. Just days later, and completely sober, she made another pass at me. I reminded her that I was married, and have tried not to be alone with her since."

Daniel fussed hungrily, as he grew more restless, and Sara rocked him gently on her hip. "Fine," she sighed. "He's hungry and we promised your mother we'd meet her for breakfast," she said, disappearing into the bathroom.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the three of them were seated in the dinning area for breakfast. They were soon joined by Betty, who immediately sensed something was wrong. Especially as Sara made quick furtive glances to a certain woman in the restaurant who wore a silver-gray pant-suit and returned the same furtive glances at her son.

A small smile graced Betty's mouth at her son, who remained oblivious to the other woman's interest in him. For any woman but Sara, he might as well wear blinders.

"She's still watching you," Sara informed Grissom, as he silently and diligently, remained focused on tearing up a croissant for Daniel, who promptly shovelled the pieces into his mouth.

Grissom sighed, as he remained focused on his son. As far he was concerned the matter was dropped. Still, he sensed that this was important to her.

"She can stare all she wants. She's not you," he responded, as he fed Daniel the last of some cooled porridge, before turning to face her and giving her all his attention. "Sweetheart, no one even comes close to you. Your love and beauty outshines them all."

"No one?" Sara enquired pointedly. "Not even…"

Grissom took her hand in his, entwining his fingers around hers and giving it a firm squeeze. He knew well enough whom she was referring to. " _No one_ , Sara. To me, sex without love is pointless. It makes you sad. And you make very happy."

He was rewarded with the Sidle smile, and a squeeze of his hand in return.

"You make me very happy too. I guess I shouldn't blame her that she finds my husband such a catch." Sara said airily as she returned to her breakfast. "You're an attractive man, Gilbert Grissom."

Grissom snorted. He couldn't see the appeal when he looked in the mirror; all he saw was a greying middle-age man, who had been given far too many second chances than he deserved. But Sara thought so, and that was all that mattered.

"Whatever you say, my dear," he said rising to his feet, with a nod to his mother to gain her attention. He signed as he spoke.

"I have some work to finish up at the college before we leave. I shouldn't be more than an hour at most."

He dutifully kissed his mother's cheek, before pressing a quick kiss to Sara's mouth and ruffling his son's hair. He headed off to the college, all the while aware that Meredith had not taken her eyes off him.

* * *

While in Santa Monica they stayed at the house that had once been Grissom's childhood home. Their days had been spent visiting the art gallery where his mother had once worked, before moving to Vegas, before stopping by the pier aquarium. Daniel had been fascinated by the brightly coloured fish, pointing a stubby finger towards a sea turtle, that had swam sedately towards them.

On their last night, Betty had insisted that they spend some time alone to just be together, while she watched her grandson. Grissom had taken Sara to a vegetarian restaurant situated close to the beach and boardwalk. Later in the stillness of the night, a full moon illuminating the way, they walked hand in hand, along the water's edge.

Grissom nuzzled her neck, as he embraced her from behind. They took some time to admire the scenery, before returning home and making sweet tender love.

On the flight back to Vegas, Daniel had been fretful and over tired, which wasn't helped when the flight was delayed by several hours. It was with great relief when the three of them eventually returned home.

The next morning, an alarm roused Sara from her sleep. She groaned softly as she quickly shut off the alarm concerned not to wake Grissom. But when she turned toward his side of the bed, he was gone.

Stifling a yawn, she headed for a quick shower before work. As she padded quietly into the living area, she saw Grissom stretched out on the sofa, with Daniel cradled securely on his chest, both sleeping soundly. Daniel's rosy cheeks, a sign that he was teething, almost seemed to glow in the dim light, as both father and son slumbered on.

Sara couldn't help the smile at the scene. She gently stepped over to the sofa, gently kissing Grissom's forehead, and ran her fingers through her son's soft curls, before grabbing a quick breakfast and quietly leaving the house.

Stowing her things in her locker, she was just clipping her holster to her jeans, when Karson Hess poked his head around the door.

"Sara, I'm glad your back, and hope that you're fully rested after your vacation. I need you in the briefing room as soon as you're ready. Seattle CSI have requested our help."

Sara nodded as she closed her locker, before heading towards the briefing room, wondering what kind of case would bring a visiting CSI to Vegas.

As she approached the room, Hess and the rest of day-shift were already there, making introductions to someone. As she stepped into the room, he turned to face her, and she stopped abruptly in her tracks, her face betraying her displeasure.

"What the hell are you doing here?"


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: As always thank you for all your reviews, comments and PM's. They are always very much appreciated. A few speculations on who the mysterious CSI is..._

 _Many, many thanks as always to my beta JellybeanChiChi, without who's help this story would not be possible._

* * *

CHAPTER 3

Jake Sullivan's smile didn't quite reach his hazel eyes, as he took in the appearance of the last person he ever expected to see again.

"And it's a pleasure to see you again, too, Sara," he said as he looked her up and down appreciatively, making no attempt to hide it. The light make-up she wore was flattering, and the way she'd allowed her hair to naturally curl, only added to her beauty.

"You two already know each other?" Karson asked sounding surprised, also picking up on the tension between them.

Jake answered before Sara could respond. "We worked in San Francisco together," not taking his eyes off Sara. "Quite closely," he added after a beat, a sly tone entering his voice.

Jake knew he'd nettled her, when Sara glared at him through narrowed eyes, her lips thinning in an angry gesture he knew well. But for her part, Sara kept a professional demeanour, even though she wanted to get as far away from Jake as possible.

"Well, since you two have worked together before, maybe it is best you and Sara work this case together," decided Karson.

Jake wasn't the only person who noticed the subtle cues Sara had shown and tried to hide. "Sara, why don't you sign off on that last case file, and then Jake can brief you on details of this case."

Taking a deep breath, Sara followed Karson down the hall where he stopped her after he was sure they were out of earshot from the break room. "Is this going to be a problem for you?"

"I would really rather not work with him, and honestly, it's not an advantage to have experience working with him. Anyone should be able to work this case."

"Doesn't matter. I assigned this to you," Karson said with a stern supervisory tone. "Don't make this personal, Sidle. He's only here for the time it takes to investigate this cold case, and then he'll return to Seattle. You're a professional. I'm sure you can put whatever personal issues you have with him, to one side, long enough to see this through."

"I get it. You're the boss," Sara said.

"Thank you."

"But I still don't like your decision."

The corners of Karson's mouth twitched upwards. "Then solve this case quickly."

Sara couldn't help but let out a frustrated chuckle as she went back to the break room. The smile faded as she rolled her eyes at seeing her ex-lover.

"So, it looks like we're stuck with each other," Jake beamed when Sara reluctantly returned to where he was sitting.

"Yes it does," Sara responded, with a marked lack of enthusiasm as she sat down, putting several chairs between them.

Jake watched her for a moment, before his smile became more genuine. "You're looking good Sara," he said, meaning it. "Vegas suits you."

Sara shook her head. "Jake, I'm really not in the mood for small talk. We're working a case; it's strictly professional between us. Anything that happened between us in San Francisco is off limits."

Jake chuckled, his smile turning into a smirk. "You've not changed one bit, Sara. Straight to the point as usual."

Sara watched him warily. He'd not changed all that much, since she'd left San Francisco. Obviously he'd gotten a little older, but his dark hair was the same she realised now. He'd grown a goatee over the intervening years. He was a good-looking man, and the trouble was, he knew it.

"Karson said this was a cold case," Sara said, matter-of-factly, leaving no doubt in Jake's mind that the pleasantries, such as they were, were over.

He straightened up and after removing a CD and some photos and evidence bags from a thick file, pushed the file towards Sara, as he explained.

"Three years ago, Tessa Driscoll was reported missing after failing to turn up at her friend's house. We canvassed the area, but as there'd been over twenty-four hours delay in reporting her missing, no one could recall seeing her, and the trail went cold. It was even suggested that she might have run off with her boyfriend."

Sara had been reading through the file, as she listened to Jake. Her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips, thoughtfully, as she picked up on his tone.

"Why was that considered unusual?"

Jake hesitated a moment, before showing her a picture of a smiling, green-eyed young girl, with shoulder length blonde hair.

"Tessa was 13 when she went missing. Her boyfriend was 23, and a teacher at her school."

Sara's eyes widened, and Jake nodded, as he handed Sara the evidence bag, that showed a strip of photos from a photo booth, of Tessa and her boyfriend, goofing around and kissing.

"The school made numerous attempts to contact him after he didn't turn up for work. After failing to reach him, they called the police. Those photos were found in his home office. His name is Bryson Ashwood. When I processed the house, I found two contributors on the bed sheets."

Sara couldn't help the groan, as she shook her head and glanced down at the two photos.

"They matched…"

She sensed rather than saw Jake nod his head.

"The semen was a positive match to Bryson, and the female contribution was positive to Tessa. Her friend admitted to lying. Apparently she and Tessa arranged to meet at the friend's house. But Tessa used that as a cover to meet up with Bryson. Even with an APB out on his car, they'd had almost a forty-eight hour window, and we had no solid leads, and the case was eventually dropped."

"So what's the link with Vegas?"

"A couple days ago, two Mesquite patrol men were on a routine call to a gas station. They were checking CCTV and checking the plates on incoming client traffic. One of the cars had a Utah license plate – officer called it in, and found out it was a part of our investigation. His captain then called us in Seattle."

"Are you sure it's them?" Sara enquired.

"See for yourself," Jake suggested as he loaded the CD into his laptop. "In the footage you can see the driver turn to the backseat before he gets out to fill the tank. It's the first solid lead in almost three years."

Sara leaned forward as the black and white CCTV footage played out. When Bryson climbed out of the car, she glanced at the photo booth photo and then back to the laptop. She frowned in concentration. It certainly could be Bryson Ashwood.

Sara's eyes narrowed even further as the footage continued to play out, as the passenger climbed out, Sara inhaled sharply, as she looked quickly at Jake.

"She's pregnant," she stated.

Jake nodded as he stopped the CD.

"In Seattle as well as Nevada, the age of consent is sixteen; and its still a few months before Tessa turns sixteen. I need to find them, before that happens, or they disappear again. They already have a head start on us. Right now, all we have to go on, is this and that they were heading towards Vegas."

"That's only _if_ they were headed here," Sara proposed. "I-15 can to lead to almost anywhere. Like you've said, they've had a few days head start already. By the time an APB was put on the car, they could be miles away. It's like looking for a needle in a haystack."

"Right now this, is the best lead we have…"

"Only lead…" Sara interjected.

"So, how about a road trip to Mesquite?" Jake continued, a glimmer of his old smile returning. "Maybe the gas station attendant remembers something, he didn't tell the cops."

* * *

Sara drove towards Mesquite, while Jake silently watched the passing scenery. But his attention turned to Sara once again as the sun caught on the gold of her wedding band.

"Well aren't you just full of surprises?" he asked, as they stopped at a traffic light, pointing to the ring. "Since I've known you, you've never been all that keen on weddings or marriage."

"I just think you don't have to follow tradition for tradition's sake. I wasn't against marriage, just not with you." Sara replied. "I told you that at the time."

Jake sniggered, nodding slightly. "That you did, right before you walked out the door and never looked back." He was silent for a few minutes, lost in thought, before saying. "So what kind of guy did get you to marry him?"

Sara turned to him briefly, her face alight with the first genuinely happy smile he'd seen since she'd walked into the briefing room.

"A good one."

And Jake knew from experience and her tone that the matter was dropped.

* * *

The drive to Mesquite had proven to be an exercise in futility. The gas station attendant had been more than a little unhelpful – but Sara couldn't really blame him. It had, after all been several days since he'd seen the car or the suspects. It was just one more reminder that Grissom had been right – trust the evidence not the witnesses' account of the matter.

On the return trip, they'd stopped by several more gas stations, in hopes the missing duo might have made multiple stops. Their hopes had been raised when at the last station they'd learned that the sedan was indeed headed to Vegas. It was a tentative lead, Sara knew, but it was just marginally better than what they had at the start.

When they had finally returned back to the lab, she and Jake had spent the time going over the new CCTV footage they'd acquired and tracing the route Ashwood had taken. Sara knew it could take days before they stuck it lucky.

After a few hours, they decided to take a break.

"I need energy," Jake said. "You want a candy bar or something?"

"No thanks," Sara said, not taking her eyes off the screen. "I'll be in the break room in a few minutes."

"Suit yourself," Jake said, as he left for the vending machine.

A couple of minutes later, while she was still deep in thought, Sara sensed a familiar presence behind her. She turned to face Grissom, with a smile on her face, as he came to stand beside her, a visitor's badge, clipped to the pocket of the shirt he was wearing.

"You missed lunch, so I thought I'd bring you something," he said in way of greeting, handing her a lunch satchel with tupperwared goodies.

"I did?" she asked, before glancing down at her watch, and was surprised that it was well past the lunch hour.

"We were going to meet for lunch remember?" Grissom reminded her. "When you didn't show, and I couldn't get you on your cell, I knew it had to be a tough case."

"Sorry."

"I understand," Grissom said, as he put out his hand to pull her out of the chair. "Come on. We can have lunch in the break room."

The familiar journey to the break room seemed slightly different to Sara as she walked with Grissom. Although they were steps they had taken together hundreds of times before, not many of those steps were taken as husband and wife. It made her smile.

Without words, the duo set out to do their tasks. While Grissom put out the food he had brought, Sara heated up water for tea.

"So is it a tough case?" Grissom asked again.

"It is," Sara, replied as she took a bite of the veggie burger he'd brought her. "Where's Dan?"

"My mother whisked him away, for a few hours, so I decided to get some preparation done for the late morning lecture tomorrow."

Sara nodded, her smile broadening, as her eyes settled on the new haircut he was sporting.

"That's not all you've done," she said, raising her hand and lightly touching the newly close-cropped greying curls. "I think I could get used to it."

Grissom instinctively leaned into her light caress, closing what little gap there was between them, as he absently ran his fingertips down the length of her arm, leaving goose bumps in his wake, and felt her shiver pleasantly. He leaned closer still, his lips brushing against her ear, as he whispered in her ear.

Jake was just about to enter the break room, when he stopped dead in his tracks at seeing the man sitting with Sara. Jake pegged the man to be in his early fifties, with greying close-cropped hair, turning white near his ears, and a neatly trimmed beard.

From the soft smiles and the look on both of their faces, Jake understood immediately that he meant a great deal to her. And he felt an immediate resentment flare, bright, hot and fluid.

As he watched, Sara reached up to lightly touch the close-cropped hair, the gesture, both innocent and intimate at the same time. When the man leaned closer, lightly caressing her arm, the glint of gold around his finger was the final proof that Jake needed to know that this was her husband.

Jealously flashed in his hazel eyes, and he stepped noisily into the break room. Immediately Grissom moved away from Sara, and Jake felt a moment of satisfaction.

"Sorry to interrupt," Jake replied, although his tone said otherwise, and was pleased when he saw the mixed look of dismay and irritation on Sara's face. It only made him want to push more. "So is this the old man you talked about earlier, Sara?" With a big smile, Jake presented his hand to Grissom. "Name's Jake. I'll be working with Sara for a while."

Grissom took Jake's hand in a firm grip. "Gil Grissom. Sara's husband."

The handshake lasted a couple of beats longer than necessary, with Jake releasing first. "Oops. Probably felt like I was crushing your hand. Sometimes I forget my strength."

"It was fine," Grissom said, before glancing at Sara. He sensed the tension between Jake and Sara.

Without using words, Grissom raised a quizzical eyebrow to ask, "What's going on?" In a wordless reply Sara shook her head, telling her husband, "I'll tell you later."

"I'd better go," he said, and indicated that Sara should follow him.

While Sara stood up, Jake took her cup of tea. "I'll heat this up for you, Sar. I know you hate it when your tea gets cold." He looked at her with a sickly sweet smile and garnered a glare as her thanks. "See you later, Phil."

Grissom didn't bother to correct Jake, nor did Sara, who walked out with her husband without looking back at Jake. Grissom made sure his hand settled on the small of her back before they left the room. Something he wanted Jake to see.

"Are you okay?" he asked as they walked along the corridor together.

"Yeah," Sara said with a sigh, sounding distracted. Grissom knew not to push it, at least while she was at work. "I'll see you later. I'm sorry I missed lunch."

Grissom squeezed her hand reassuringly. "It happens, Sara. I used to do this too, remember? Don't be too hard on yourself, sweetheart."

He leaned closer, his lips grazing her cheek in a quick kiss, before he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Once again, many many thanks for the comments. Every one is always appreciated. If its possible for me to have a favourite chapter, then this one is it. (so far).I hope that you will enjoy this chapter, as much as i enjoyed writing it. As always, an awesome beta by JellybeanChiChi. I keep saying it, but this really wouldn't be possible with her help._

* * *

CHAPTER 4

"So that was the husband," Jake said as Sara returned to the break room. "He's not quite what I was expecting." Jake continued, ignoring the warning look that Sara flashed his way. "Certainly wasn't expecting someone old."

Sara bristled but kept her cool. She knew Jake was baiting her.

"He's just _older_ than me. Not that my marriage is of any of your concern."

Jake grinned nastily. "I think the lady doth protest too much. Would certainly explain why he high-tailed it out of here, damn quickly. Realised that he couldn't keep up with a younger man."

"Amazing how you can twist a short visit from my husband into a phantom pissing match," Sara retorted. "You haven't changed a bit, Jake."

"Thank you," he said snidely.

"It wasn't a compliment. You're an ass," Sara said with indifference. "I've got work to do and so do you. Let's get this done so you can return to Seattle, where you belong."

Sara stood to clear up her half-eaten veggie burger and the other goodies Grissom had brought. She emptied the tea Jake made a point of warming for her into the sink before confidently leaving the room. Jake continued to sit at the table but watched her every move over the rim of his coffee cup. His smile faded ever so slightly.

* * *

Sara and Jake worked in silence for the next few hours, with no sign of the car. They were just about to check the last few tapes of CCTV, when Jake leaned back in his chair and craned his neck back and forth.

Sara's gaze remained transfixed on the monitor, but soon she absently rubbed the left side of her neck, before pausing to write something down on the writing pad beside her.

Jake had forgotten how consumed Sara could be when she was absorbed in a case, as she was with this. He leaned further back into his chair, content to watch her as she worked. She was still beautiful, even all those years ago in San Francisco. Even back then, she'd been unaware of just how attractive she really was. She'd turned heads then, and he was sure it was just as true now.

Was it really any wonder that old guy had claimed her for his own like some prized possession? The thought made him stand up and approach her.

Sara continued to rub the sore spot between her neck and shoulder and ignored Jake's movements. That was, until she felt his hands on her shoulders, gently massaging the tense muscles.

She glared at him as she shrugged him off. "Jake. Stop."

He stepped back, his hands raised. "I was only trying to help. Besides, it's getting late. I thought if we were pulling a double we at least deserve another break. That is, if your old man, doesn't mind you spending all night with another guy."

Sara didn't dignify his barb with an answer, but instead glanced down at her watch to find that it was almost 7:15 p.m.

"You pull a double if you want," Sara said as she jotted down a few more notes. "I'm going home."

She ejected the disc and turned off the monitor. Jake took her cue that the night was over and gathered up the rest of the evidence. He barely had everything in hand before Sara had left the room and was going down the hall towards the locker room.

"Sara! Wait," Jake said as he chased after her. He caught up to her, but she didn't stop walking. "Listen. This tension… it's unnecessary. Why don't I take you home?"

Sara stopped, causing Jake to form a big smile on his face. "Great. You stopped."

"Just to tell you the evidence locker is in the other direction. I have my own car Jake. I'll see you tomorrow."

She turned back towards the locker room and pulled out her phone to call her husband.

* * *

It was just after 8:30 p.m. when Sara finally entered the townhouse. The smell of cooking assailed her nostrils, and her stomach rumbled appreciatively.

Hank, their boxer dog, came bounding over to her, and she bent to rub affectionately at his ears.

She found Grissom in the kitchen listening to the radio that was broadcasting a baseball game and doing a crossword.

He turned to smile at her, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. She closed the gap between them, her hand running up his arm before coming to rest on the back on his neck. His hair felt damp, letting her know he had just finished his shower. His arms wrapped around her waist as they leaned in for a kiss.

"Hmmm, something smells good," she said, nuzzling his neck, as his arms tightened happily around her. "And I'm not talking about the food."

He grinned before drawing her closer. They kissed again, her hands running through his close-cropped hair. He hummed appreciatively, before she deepened the kiss.

"So, what's that other delicious smell?" she asked, when the need for air, finally ended the kiss.

"Pasta and walnut salad," Grissom responded, still embracing her as he nuzzled her neck softly. As his lips grazed over the tender spot, he felt her wince slightly. "You missed lunch, remember?" he asked, at her raised eyebrow, when he pulled back. "There's baked pears for dessert."

"You _have_ been busy," she noted, as she took in the neatly ironed and folded laundry that was ready to put away, and the washing machine already in mid cycle.

Grissom merely shrugged, reluctantly releasing her, as he turned back to the simmering pans.

"While Dan was with my mother, I got a few things done. Thought I'd make a start on dinner after you called. Still no leads on the case?"

Sara shook her head as she absently rubbed at her sore shoulder.

"Want to talk about it?" he offered, watching her carefully.

"I'm okay," she sighed. "Is Dan asleep?"

"Yeah, I put him down just before you called. Little guy has had a busy day."

He turned to Sara in time to see the look of disappointment on her face, at missing his bedtime.

"This is almost done," Grissom's voice was soft. "Why don't you wash up, and I'll dish this up?"

She nodded with a sigh, lifting her hand to cup his cheek. "I'm glad you decided to keep the beard," she said pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Grissom's eyes sparkled with sudden mischief, and his cheeks dimpled slightly at his smirk. "You just like the way it tickles," he chuckled.

Sara swatted him playful on the ass, before she headed towards the bathroom. After quickly washing up, she headed towards her son's bedroom.

A single lamp dimly lit the couple's former office that was converted into Daniel's nursery. Sara quietly entered her son's room, and allowed a small smile to grace her mouth as she watched her son sleeping, starfish like on his back. His deep, soft breathing, almost rhythmic in the stillness of the room. He sucked busily on his pacifier for a few seconds.

Above his head, one small hand curled around the leg of the red-black-and yellow plush ant that Grissom had bought for him just after he was born. She reached out to gently caress the soft brown curls. Thinking back to those first early days, when they'd first brought him home.

 _Like all new parents, they'd had their share of struggles. They experienced a trial by fire as they adapted to a new life that was solely dependent on them. But they'd also had a good support network, ready to give a helping hand, or words of encouragement._

 _Even after his birth, Sara still struggled with doubts of whether she could be a good mother. She'd long suspected that Grissom would make an excellent father one day, if given the chance, and he'd proved her right, especially when he'd had a knack for settling Daniel when she couldn't. Which had only added to her self-doubts._

 _After a particularly bad sleepless night, Sara had felt an exhaustion that went beyond any she'd felt after working a triple shift. Still feeling emotional, Sara had struggled on Grissom's first day back at work. Catherine had stopped by, to find a stressed out Sara and a wailing baby._

 _Catherine had offered words of reassurance, and Daniel was soon settled. Catherine gently stoked the brown curls on Daniel's head as he was rocked gently in Sara's arms, one tiny hand clutching tight to the collar of her t-shirt_.

 _"They don't come with instruction manuals, Sara," Catherine had offered in a low voice. "And no one expects you to know everything about motherhood. Just follow your instincts; they won't let you down. Actually," Catherine paused as a thought came to her. "When you stop and think about it, everyone is winging it. And it does get easier in time."_

 _Despite her exhaustion Sara, had laughed gently and glanced down at her son, lying peacefully in her arms trustingly. She gently stroked his soft cheek, overwhelmed by the love she felt for him. He may not have been planned, but he was dearly loved, and she couldn't think of a life without him._

 _Things didn't get easier straight away, but Sara's confidence had grown a little more each day._

She was brought from her reverie by her husband's familiar presence first, before she felt his hands on her shoulders, feeling the tight muscles under the shirt.

"I thought I'd find you in here," he said softly as he watched his sleeping son for moment, a gentle smile of his own on his face.

Sara leaned into him slightly, and Grissom dropped his arm round her, lightly in one-armed hug.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, his concern evident in his tone. "Do you want to talk about it?" he added, his tone letting her know that he'd support her decision whatever she decided.

Sara shook her head against his chest.

"I'd rather not, if that's okay?"

"Okay," he consented, giving her gentle squeeze. "Come on dinner's getting cold.

* * *

After dinner, Grissom disappeared for fifteen minutes, before returning and shooing Sara off for a soak in the bath, while he cleared the dishes.

At first, Sara protested, insisting on helping since he'd done all the cooking. But after firmly refusing her offer of help, saying that she'd been at work all day, she finally relented and headed towards their master suite.

On seeing the numerous lit candles placed around the bathroom, she couldn't help but smile and felt a sense of worry about the case drift away. Since Daniel's birth, Grissom had frequently indulged in pampering her, especially more so, when he knew she was working a difficult case. Although he'd become better able to express his feelings for her, there were still occasions when he struggled. In those moments, his actions said more than words ever could.

She slipped into the hot water, and with a grateful sigh she closed her eyes and relished the moment to relax. The gentle tap on the door and Grissom's quiet voice explaining that he was taking Hank out for a quick walk startled her briefly as she realised that she'd nodded off.

Since the water had cooled, she hurriedly finished up and by the time she was dressed in her tank top and pyjama bottoms, Grissom was already in bed, his glasses perched on the end of his nose, reading.

He glanced up as his wife entered the bedroom, rubbing her left shoulder. Evidently, the bath hadn't been enough to help ease the stiffness. He put aside his book and took off his glasses.

"Come here," he said, as he moved to make room for her, on his side of the bed.

When she was settled on the bed in front of him, he gently began to massage her shoulders.

Grissom could feel the tension ease, as Sara relaxed under his gentle massage. Her head dropped forward slightly, as she uttered a soft hum of contentment. One hand still working on her shoulders, he lifted the other to gently brush her hair to one side and nuzzled the back of her neck.

When she relaxed further, emboldened by her response, he left a trail of kisses from her neck, and along her shoulder. His hands slowly explored her body with a familiarity that would never stale.

Sara leaned back into him as he thoroughly kissed her body. His hands came up to gently knead her breasts, her nipples hardening immediately in response to his loving touch, an ache in-between her thighs that only he could ease.

She turned around in his arms, shedding her tank top as she did so, before claiming his mouth in a heated kiss. He returned the kiss enthusiastically as they divested themselves of the clothing that impeded their way.

The room filled with the sounds of their lovemaking, driving all thoughts of Jake Sullivan from Sara's mind.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Once again, many many thanks for your comments. For those that leave a guest review, I can't reply back, but know that every comment is very much appreciated. Once again, another amazing beta from JellybeanChiChi. Her help is so invaluable for this story, and is also very much appreciated._

* * *

CHAPTER 5

When Sara walked into the briefing room the next morning, Jake's attention was taken up by another daytime CSI, Karen O'Shea. She and Sara didn't always get along and Karen looked too pleased when Jake's attention shifted towards Sara when she entered the room.

But Sara did nothing to reciprocate the attention, and watched as Karen managed to recapture Jake's interest. The scene made Sara mentally shake her head. If Karen fancied Jake, she was welcome to him. Sara had more important things to do.

Since Karen was keeping Jake occupied, Sara headed for the evidence locker, ready to make a start on the last remaining tapes of CCTV footage. After gathering her boxes, she passed by her supervisor's office to give him an update. On her way out she bumped into Nick.

"Hey, Love Bug!" he greeted her, drawing her into a hug, a delighted smile on her face as she hugged him back. "How's that little Cricket doing? We haven't seen him in awhile."

Sara released him, a happy smile still on her face. She loved to hear Nick's long standing nickname for Daniel.

"He's good," she nodded. "Don't think it'll be too long before he's starting to crawl."

Nick grinned. "Crawling is when the fun, _really_ starts, and you need eyes everywhere."

"I think I have Gil convinced to have people over for a barbecue soon."

"That sounds good. I'll have to tell the gang…"

Nick paused as Jake came to stand beside Sara. He didn't take much notice of Karen, who had been walking with Jake and passed by the three of them with a knowing smile on her face. She sauntered down the hallway and started to make a phone call.

But Nick's attention was on Jake who immediately put his hands on Sara's shoulders.

"Good morning, Princess," Jake said sweetly to Sara. "How're your shoulders today? Did the massage help?"

Even before Nick could open his mouth to set Jake straight, Sara ducked out of Jake's grasp and put a good amount of space between them.

"Cool it, Jake," she said. Although Nick could tell she was trying to keep her calm, he recognized the edge in her voice, her slightly louder tone and the way her eyes blazed as she turned to face Jake.

Jake might have responded had it not been for a text that both he and Sara received. They looked at their phones simultaneously.

"They found the car at long-term parking," Jake said. "How long does it normally take to get it to the garage here?"

"It's at the impound lot now, so maybe 15 minutes," Sara said as she put her phone back into her jeans.

Nick put a supportive hand on Sara's shoulder. "I'll let you go. Tell Griss, I said 'Hi,' and give Cricket a cuddle from me," Nick said with a smile as he glanced at Jake, "Good luck… with everything."

"Thanks Nick," Sara said with a smile. "No worries."

As soon as a Nick was out of earshot, Sara turned to face Jake.

"Jake. You are in Vegas for one reason and one reason alone. To solve your case. I am working with you under the advisement of my supervisor and because I want to see this case through. We are not working together because it is written in the stars, and I would hope you are a good enough CSI to figure out the signals I am throwing you. I am _not_ interested," Sara said resolutely. "Now, stop stepping over the professional line and making this whole situation personal."

Jake scoffed, his smile shark-like. " _I_ stepped over the line?" he asked, pointing a finger at his chest. "That's rich, coming from the woman who started sleeping with her boss! Guess sleeping with him didn't quite work out as well as you wanted since you're still a Level 3 and he's out on his ass."

"My husband, left on his own accord to teach at a university," Sara said, not at all surprised that Karen dished out gossip about her relationship with Grissom. "It's amazing how you still believe any piece of office and locker room gossip as Gospel. You'd think a man your age would know better."

She turned abruptly on her heels, heading swiftly down the corridor towards the CSI garage. As far as Sara was concerned, the quicker the car arrived, the quicker they could move this case forward and the quicker he'd be out of her life again.

* * *

Before beginning a thorough examination of the car, Sara shot photo after photo of the car, which was covered in a thin film of dust and grime.

A claim ticket on the dash had a time stamp of four days ago. The beige 2002 Mitsubishi Galant sedan was in worse shape than the CCTV footage from the gas station had indicated. There were dents above the right front tire, the driver's side door, and the passenger side rear bumper. The tires were worn and clearly needed changing.

It was obvious that the vehicle wasn't road worthy, and hadn't been for some time.

Opening the rear passenger side door, Sara took a few more pictures before beginning her search. She frowned in concentration, noticing a familiar wear pattern on the back seat. Two straight parallel lines, and another on the backrest.

"I think they might have had a toddler with them," Sara mused almost to herself, putting the pieces together in her mind.

"What gives you that idea?" Jake wanted to know, as he continued to work on the outside of the car.

"See these?" Sara pointed to the indentations as Jake bent down to take a look. "They're from a car seat. We know she's pregnant…and Ashwood was distracted by something or someone in the back seat…"

Her voice trailed off, as something fluffy and orange from under the front passenger seat caught her eye. Reaching over she pulled out a plush toy tiger. It was worn threadbare in several places, where small fingers had rubbed the plush fur in comfort. One of the eyes was missing. It was obvious that the plush tiger was very much loved.

"Little guy left his stuffed animal behind," Sara's tone was wistful and held a note of sadness to it, that wasn't lost on Jake.

"What makes you such an expert?" he asked, indicating the wear pattern and toy.

Still looking at the tiger, lost in thought, Sara responded in a low voice. "I have a son. He has something similar and he takes it everywhere with him."

Surprised, Jake could only stare at her.

"You have a kid?" he asked, his tone reflecting his surprise. "How old is he?"

"Eight months."

"Well, aren't you just full of surprises? Marriage… kids…the whole nine yards. I never would have guessed the old guy had it in him."

Sara refused to rise to the bait. Instead she turned her attention back to processing the car. After a minute or two, Jake took the hint and returned to work.

They worked in silence, for the next half hour. Sara found more evidence of a toddler after she discovered a pacifier under the driver's seat. She bagged it.

She documented and photographed her way to the front of the car, collecting more evidence as she went. As she opened the driver's door, she spotted a photo wedged under the seat, almost as if it had been dropped without the occupant's knowledge. Sara snapped a few photos, before picking it up.

It was a photo of Ashwood and Tessa with a toddler Sara guessed was around 2 years old. If that was the case, then that could mean that Tessa was pregnant when she and Ashwood ran off together. It was a possible motive.

In the photo, Tessa was smiling broadly, her green eyes bright. It was abundantly clear that she was happy, as was the matching grin from Ashwood, who had his arm around Tessa and the toddler.

It was obvious that they genuinely loved each other.

Sara shook her head absently. When they were finally caught, it would mean tearing a family apart, for there was no doubt they _were_ a family. As it was, Ashwood was facing at least twenty years in prison, with little hope of seeing his children or Tessa again. Even if he made a deal, serving fifteen years instead, there would be little chance he'd see them again.

Although she didn't condone what they'd done, she couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness at the thought. She couldn't ever imagine Gil not being a part of either her or Daniel's life. It would tear her world apart.

If only Ashwood had waited three more years, then his relationship with Tessa would have been legal, if not conventional. She found a part of her, hoping that if a deal were offered, Ashwood take it.

* * *

Over the next three days, Sara and Jake continued their investigation. DNA on the pacifier confirmed the child was male and he shared alleles at all loci with the DNA samplers entered into CODIS three years previously for Tessa and Ashwood. The toddler was their son.

After exhaustive searches of flight records, it was finally established that they hadn't boarded any flights, at least under either Ashwood or Driscoll.

Jake had mentioned before that they had become adept at blending in and keeping a low profile over the last three years, and Sara was beginning to understand his frustration.

* * *

Grissom eyed the boxer with an upturned eyebrow. The dog whined under Grissom's gaze.

"You know, buddy, these were my favourite walking boots," he teased Hank, as Grissom placed the chewed boots into a garbage bag.

Hank whimpered, his head drooped, his eyes mournful and almost pleading. His tail wagged half-heartedly. He gave a small bark, as he slinked towards Grissom, his tail tucked contritely between his legs.

"Don't get like that with me," Grissom said, as he bent to pet his beloved pooch. Hank licked his face gratefully for his efforts, and Grissom chuckled.

Grissom rose to his feet, as Sara's Prius pulled up to the garage. She was home early, after having spent the day in court.

"Hey, honey, how was court?" he asked with a smile, as he placed the bagged shoes into the trashcan.

Sara's smile spoke volumes.

"Twelve years," she said with a grin. "With a minimum of at least eight before he'll be considered for parole. What's Hank apologising for this time?"

Grissom sighed. He looked down at the dog again and asked, "Should I tell her, or will you?" Hank titled his head askance, and whined.

"Coward," Grissom huffed before placing his hand on the small of Sara's back as he guided her into the house.

"Remember those favourite walking boots of mine…?"

* * *

Much later, their breathing and heart rates returning to almost normal as they snuggled in the afterglow, a satiated drowsiness began to settle over them, as they drifted off.

It had only felt like ten minutes, when both Sara and Grissom were startled awake by the sound of Hank's furious barking.

Afraid that it would wake Daniel, Grissom headed out to discover what had disturbed Hank. Fastening his robe, he found the dog whining and sniffing at the door. He growled low in his throat.

Grissom whistled, and Hank obediently came to him, before returning to the front door, still agitated.

When it became clear that something had clearly unsettled the dog, Grissom headed back to their bedroom, stopping first to check on Daniel. His soft, relaxing breathing was enough to convince Grissom that his son was still slumbering peacefully.

Returning back to their room, he quickly redressed.

"Something's got him spooked, so I'm going to take him for a walk. He didn't wake Dan. Try and go back to sleep, honey." Grissom explained, giving her a quick kiss, before quickly heading back to Hank, and heading out into the darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Once again, many thanks on the comments/reviews. As always they are very much appreciated. Pretty much everyone is in agreement on much of a piece of work, Jake is. :) As a writer, I feel that I've done a good job, when you can dislike a character so much - or love a character for that matter., as the case maybe. If I am allowed a favourite chapter, this would be another favourite of mine. Of course, this story wouldn't be what it is, without the guidance of my beta, JellybeanChiChi._

* * *

Chapter 6

The next morning, Sara headed into work, nursing a coffee and still feeling the affects of their disturbed sleep from the night before. Although Grissom's walk with Hank lasted more than an hour, Hank seemed restless all night long.

Walking through the halls, she headed towards her supervisor's office for updates and assignments. Out of the corner of her eye, Sara spotted CSI's Patrick Davies and Karen O'Shea in deep discussion.

They paused and turned to face Sara as she walked past them. Although she would have wished them "Good morning," she instead could only stifle a yawn. But she could feel their eyes on her as they continued to talk in hushed voices as she passed.

"Well, good morning to you, too."

Jake's voice made Sara stop, close her eyes and take a deep breath. Although his voice was a cheery tone, it simply raked on her nerves.

"Morning, Jake."

"You look like you had a rough night," Jake greeted, his high mood dipping slightly on seeing how drained she looked. "Hope it wasn't the little guy…"

"Nothing to be concerned about," Sara cut in, fighting off a yawn.

"Oh, now I can't be concerned?" Jake's retort might have been wrapped in a pretence of friendliness but sounded more sleazy to Sara.

"Not in the mood, Jake."

Jake took a step towards Sara and proved how sleazy he could be.

"You know," he started in a voice loud enough for the two co-workers eavesdropping nearby, "what you need is a good lay. I'm guessing the old guy certainly isn't _up_ to the task."

From the corner of her eye Sara saw Patrick bite his lip to stop from sniggering as he turned his head away from Sara. He muttered something to Karen, making her snicker.

At that, Sara gave her full attention to Jake. "I think experience has taught us both that being up to task certainly takes you out of the running."

The truth of the matter was, Grissom could give men half his age a run for their money. But at this point, it wasn't about proving Grissom's masculinity; it was about emasculating Jake.

And it seemed to work. Patrick and Karen exchanged a knowing smile before they both turned and walked off. Karen gave a quick glance at Jake over her shoulder, before disappearing around the corner.

But more importantly to Sara, the retort made Jake speechless and red in the face. She took that as her cue to continue her original course of direction — her supervisor's office.

Although she gave an update on the Ashwood case, there still was not enough for the case to move forward. Karson asked Sara to work on an arson case, which was straightforward and finished by lunch.

She was in the break room, catching up on paperwork when Jake walked in, carrying a take-out paper bag and a coffee.

Not that Sara took note. She continued to concentrate on her paperwork that was until he placed a bar of chocolate and two Midol caplets in front her.

She turned to face him, her eyes glittering with anger.

"What?" Jake said innocently. "I thought this would help. Look. I remembered your favourite type."

Sara pushed the chocolate and the pills towards Jake. "Your juvenile personality is not charming."

"You're not giving a chance."

"There is no chance. When will you get that into your thick head," Sara said heatedly.

Her phone buzzed and checking the I.D she smiled, her mood brightening considerably, as she answered with a bright, "Hi babe."

She listened for a second, before adding, "Sure, but you don't need to come for me. I can meet you there. … No. It's not a problem for me to drive. See you soon. Love you."

She closed her phone and gathered up her paperwork, pointedly leaving the chocolate and the pills, before heading out of the break room without a backward glance.

Jake waited a moment or two, before following after her.

* * *

The family-owned diner, that was set just off the strip and frequented mostly by locals, was tastefully decorated in warm pastel colours. One wall consisted of a large window that over looked the parking lot. Usually on Wednesdays, Grissom had late classes at the University, and so it hadn't surprised Sara that Daniel was there.

Sara spotted Grissom sitting in the large booth nearest the parking lot, and had been pleasantly surprised to find that Grissom had invited Nick along.

Sara quickly greeted her husband and son with a quick kiss, before turning to give Nick a warm hug, before slipping into the gap beside Grissom.

Daniel babbled as he diligently chased the small pieces of Sara's veggie omelette and Grissom's veggie quesadillia around the table of the high chair he was strapped in. He picked up a morsel, and offered it to Grissom, who promptly pretended to eat the offering his young son offered him.

"So how is your insect schooling going?" Grissom asked Nick. It was easy to hear pride in his voice.

"Man, it is a lot of stuff, but I really enjoy it."

"I gotta tell you, Nick," Grissom said as he cut a few more pieces of food for Daniel. "When Sara told me about what you were doing, I was surprised."

"When the opportunity came up, I decided to go for it. I'll never be as good as you though, Griss," said Nick as he finished explaining why he'd taken the change to become the Grave shifts new bugman.

Grissom shook his head, with a slight smirk on his face.

"You'll do just fine, Nick. Give yourself a little credit."

Nick shook his head as he chewed on his burger.

"I've got big shoes to fill, and I know it. There's a reason you're top of the field, Grissom."

As Nick watched the couple tend to their son, Nick chuckled and smiled. Despite it being almost a year after their marriage and birth of their son, seeing Grissom and Sara like this, still caught him by surprise.

"I can't believe how big Cricket's grown, since we last saw him."

Grissom nodded and glanced at Sara as she leaned in closer to him, a smile on her face.

"Between taking that teaching position in L.A and this new case Sara's working on, things have slipped a little," Grissom agreed as he turned his attention back to his veggie quesadillia. "We were thinking of having a barbecue this Saturday, if you're up to it?"

"Sure. I'll let the guys know." Nick agreed, and Daniel decided to share his lunch with Nick. He promptly pretended to eat the offering, earning a toothy grin off the little boy.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, before Nick ventured to say, "You know, the lab, Grave shift, it's not the same without you two there." He chased a few fries around his plate, before looking up to face them both. "Don't you miss it?"

Grissom and Sara shared a look, as Grissom put his arm around Sara's waist.

"Sure, I miss the lab, and the team," Grissom admitted. "I love teaching at the University, but if I were to be completely honest with myself? I miss working with Sara the most."

They shared another look, as Sara bumped playfully against him, her hand running up his thigh under the table, and he's hand tightened slightly on her waist.

"Sorry to intrude, but could I borrow your ketchup?"

The atmosphere changed considerably at Jake's unwelcome intrusion. Sara's grip on Grissom's thigh tightened slightly in an effort to calm him, as she felt his body tense.

"Jake, why are you here?" Sara wanted to know, her displeasure at his presence clear on her face.

"I thought I'd have some lunch, same as you," replied Jake in an "isn't it obvious?" kind of tone, ignoring Grissom and Nick completely.

Jake glanced down at Daniel, who was watching him uncertainly.

"And this handsome little fella must be your son," Jake stated, bending down to Daniel's height, knowing full well, that he was getting to them both. "Hi there, Cricket," he cooed, mistakenly thinking that Nick's nickname was the toddler's name. "Aren't you going to be a little heart breaker when you grow up? He looks just like you, Sara." He added, despite the obvious fact that apart from his brown eyes, he was Grissom's double.

Grissom handed him the ketchup container, despite knowing Jake was only using it as an excuse to come to disrupt their lunch.

"Here's your ketchup. Now you can go. We're trying to enjoy lunch with our family and our friend."

"There's no need to be like that, Phil," Jake started to say as he rose to his feet.

While Grissom wanted nothing more than to correct Jake and throw him out of the restaurant, he noticed Daniel getting upset. The child's bottom lip pouted out in a perfect imitation of Sara, as he suddenly decided he didn't like this man that had suddenly appeared beside him. Large tears pooled in his eyes, as he took a shuddering breath.

Just as he moved to stand up, Daniel gave a frightened cry, large tears spilling down his cheeks.

"You've done what you set out to do, Jake. Just go." Sara demanded, as she rummaged in the diaper bag for Daniel's favourite red-black and yellow plush ant. Daniel immediately snuggled into it, at the same time as Sara gave him his pacifier, which he sucked busily.

Sara glared at Jake as she stroked Daniel's back as Grissom rocked him. He handed her Daniel as he snuffled quietly between frantic pulls of the pacifier.

"You heard what she said," Nick said in a warning tone as he rose to his feet. "Take a hike, Jake."

"Thanks for the ketchup," Jake replied, in a sneering tone as he held up the container. This time Grissom did rise to his feet, his mouth a thin angry slash on his face.

Sara placed a hand on his forearm both as a warning and a means of comfort.

Just for a moment, Nick thought that Sara's calming presence wouldn't be enough, as the two men stood toe-to-toe. Then, Jake turned and sauntered back to his table, and Grissom turned and sat down, his gaze fixed intently on his plate.

It was some minutes, before the tension eased enough for conversation to resume, and when it did, it wasn't with the ease of before.

Grissom excused himself to head to the restroom, and Nick and Sara continued to talk amongst themselves, as Daniel held his own intense conversation with his ant, occasionally pointing at Nick or Sara with a stubby finger and smiling around his pacifier.

Sara's cell rang, just as Nick spotted Jake heading towards the restroom, a few seconds after Grissom had entered.

"I won't be a sec," Nick said, as he quickly rose to his feet, and headed quickly towards the men's restroom.

He opened the door, just in time to see Grissom angrily swipe Jake's pointing finger from his chest, the veins in his neck standing out as he breathed heavily in his anger.

"You forget, old man, I know what she likes and how she likes it. Don't believe her; she practically begs me to be inside her when we're working together."

Grissom's hands tightened into fists, the knuckles white, his face a mask of fury Nick had seen on a few occasions, directed mostly towards suspects whose crimes had involved children or had beaten their wives.

Nick stepped forward just as Grissom's arm rose poised to strike.

"Hey, Griss, Sara's waiting just outside with Dan. She got a phone call, I think she needs to head back to the lab."

It took a few seconds to sink in, before Grissom lowered his arm. He took a small step toward Jake, his face mere inches from the younger man's.

"Stay away from Sara," he intoned, his voice heavy with threat, before turning on his heels and leaving the restroom.

As he reached the door, his back stiffened and he paused just for a second as Jake called after him, "Face it, Phil, you're just an old man trying to recapture his youth, with a young wife. She's going to get bored with you!"

Grissom came out the door with Jake and Nick behind him. A few steps from the restroom, Sara stopped them all.

"The lab just called, Bryson Ashwood and Tessa Driscoll have been stopped outside Barstow. They were on a Greyhound headed to San Diego. They're going to be sent back to Seattle. Tessa and her son are with Child Services."

Grissom, his face pale and still showing traces of his anger, took Daniel from Sara's arms. "I'll get his things and meet you at the car."

"OK," Sara said, concerned about Grissom's demeanor. She was going to follow him to the table, but seeing Jake quickly exit to his car and Nick follow him, Sara put two and two together and hurriedly headed towards the entrance.

No one saw Patrick Davies leave the men's room as he closed his phone, a smirk on his face.

* * *

Sara caught up with Nick outside. They watched as Jake had already gotten in his car and pealed out of the lot.

"Jesus, Nick, what happened?"

Nick shook his head. "Jake got in Grissom's face. Wound him up something awful. I haven't seen Griss like that in a long time."

Sara was going to get more details, but Grissom exited the restaurant and walked straight to the car. The fact he didn't even recognize Sara, worried Nick.

"Are you sure you're gonna be okay?" Nick asked, concern heavy in his tone. "He's still pretty wound up."

"You mean Jake? I can handle that asshole."

"No," Nick said, swallowing a lump in his throat. "I mean with Griss."

Sara nodded, as she glanced towards Grissom busily strapping Daniel into his car seat. She placed her sunglasses on the top of her head, as she turned to face Nick, again.

"Nick, come on. This is Gil you're talking about. He might be angry, but not with me."

"Why don't you let me talk to him, just for a second…"

"No offence, Nick, but right now, me and Daniel are the only two people that could get close to him. I'll be fine."

"I don't know; Jake wound him up pretty tight," Nick edged, still unconvinced.

Sara shook her head, with a slight smile. "Nick. Listen to yourself. It'll be fine."

Nick watched her walk to the car, still unsure if Sara was doing the right thing.

As he watched, Sara reached up to touch Grissom's cheek. From what he could see, Nick knew that their former boss was still far from happy. Sara continued to soothe him, before leaning in and kissing him. Grissom hesitated a second, before he returned her kiss, his hands settling on her waist, pulling her closer.

When they broke apart, Sara rested her forehead against Grissom's, her hand settling on the back of his neck. Grissom nodded at whatever she said to him, before he tightened his hold around her and initiated another kiss. They quickly parted and Sara dipped into the backseat where Daniel was. Closing the door, she turned to face Grissom once more and the two shared another conversation before she headed towards her own car.

Nick glanced across the street to see Jake sitting in his car. Nick ran towards the car while Jake was preoccupied watching the couple say goodbye and part ways.

A heavy slap on Jake's hood broke the peeping tom from his reverie. "I don't know what your problem is with Grissom, but they love each other, and they're happy… _She's_ happy," Nick said angrily. "Do yourself a favour. Finish up what you need to on this case, and get the hell back to Seattle. She's moved on, and you should too."

"Screw off, cowboy," Jake said as he drove off in a dust of smoke.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Many many thanks for your comments and reviews. It's been brought to my attention, that there was a little confusion on some new characters in the last chapter. CSI 's Patrick Davies and Karen O'Shea as well as Jake Sullivan are all new to to this story, and didn't appear in Grissom's Heart. I'm sorry that their introduction caused a little confusion. To clarify, this is set 8 months after Grissom's Heart, so new characters may pop up from time to time._

 _Since it's Christmas next week, would you all still like a chapter posting?_

 _Many thanks always, to my amazing beta, JellybeanChiChi._

* * *

CHAPTER 7

After leaving the diner, Sara thought taking a more circuitous route back to CSI would help calm her down. Unfortunately, it had only served to increase her fury.

"I cannot believe that son of a bitch… I can only imagine what he said to Gil. … I swear if he starts up with me…"

Her lips tightened with anger as she stalked into the building intent on hunting Jake down. This time he had gone too far, and she was damned if she'd turn the other cheek.

She found him in the layout room going over evidence of the case.

"Just what the _hell_ is wrong with you!" she demanded furiously, getting into Jake's face. "Following me to lunch with my husband. Insinuating that there's more going on between us. Goading Gil. Not to mention you frightened my son."

Jake sneered lacking any remorse or apologetic tone. "The boy got over it with grandpa's help. Sorry, I meant, _daddy's_ help. The whole thing is a joke, Sara! He's over the hill and half way down the other side…"

That was the final straw as Sara did something she never ever expected to do; she slapped Jake hard across the face. Shocked they both took a step back from each other.

"Sidle my office now!" ordered Karson, drawn to the layout room, by the loud voices, and arriving just in time to see Sara strike Jake.

Glaring at Jake, Sara tried to reign in her anger, realising that she'd allowed Jake to get to her more than she'd realised. His jibes towards Gil were one thing, but frightening Daniel had been the final straw.

Karson waited until Sara had exited the room, before he turned his attention back to Jake.

"Wipe the smirk off your face, Sullivan. I want to talk you next."

When Karson entered his office, Sara was standing in front of his desk, her body tense, her hands balled into tight fists.

He quietly closed the door, and spoke only after he'd taken his seat behind the desk.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you that I'd every right to fire you for striking a colleague. You're better than this, Sara. You're a great CSI with the highest solve rates I've seen. What happened just now?"

Sara's eyes blazed as looked to her supervisor.

"When you first assigned me to this case, I said then that it wasn't an advantage to have experience working with him."

"I recall also saying not to make this personal."

" _He's_ made it personal!" Sara exploded. "I've done everything I can to keep things professional. But he stepped over the line when he frightened my son."

That made Karson pause a moment, hitting close to home. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, more understanding.

"But the little guy is okay now?"

"Yeah," Sara nodded, the tension slowly draining from her body. "Gil and I managed to calm him, but that's not the point, is it?"

Karson looked down at his desk a moment, and then looked up to face Sara again. "The only thing left to do in this case as far as Vegas is concerned is processing the motel room where the couple was staying. Sullivan has to be there. You don't."

"I can finish this case."

"Sara, if he is baiting you, and I believe he is, then nothing good can come from you working with him when one of your colleagues can finish this up," Karson said. "This shouldn't do with your pride. You have a reputation to protect, and this guy shouldn't be allowed another chance to tarnish it."

Sara took a deep breath. She hated that she had to turn this over, but Karson was right; she needed to put her pride aside for the good of the case. "OK. I understand. But … who would you put on the case?"

Karson understood Sara's underlying question. Office gossip can be killer, and the colleague chosen to cover for Sara should be discreet and not care about gossip. "I was thinking of asking Kahlil."

Sara nodded her head. If there was one person on the team more no-nonsense than Sara, it was Kahlil. "I would appreciate that. I can cover for his duties."

"I think he's finishing up something in the garage," Karson said. "Go get him so we can get the ball rolling in the right direction."

As Sara made her way to the door Karson added, "It's good to know that Daniel's alright now."

* * *

With a sigh of relief that the shift was over, after Sara picked up Daniel at the daycare center and Hank from his dogsitter, the trio headed home. But soon after they stepped inside, Sara collected Hank's leash and Daniel's stroller to take a walk to the community park some 15 minutes away.

Returning home an hour later, she let Hank off the leash and gave him a fresh bowl of water, which he lapped thirstily before settling into his bed for a nap.

Juggling chores and playing with her son, the hours passed quickly. With Daniel finally settled and asleep, Sara glanced at the clock to find that it was 8:45 pm.

Gil's last lesson at the University finished at 7 pm, and it wasn't unusual for a few students to stay back, asking questions.

Unconcerned for the moment, Sara settled down on the sofa with a forensic magazine.

She dozed off for a bit, and when she awoke, she realised that it was almost 11 p.m., and Grissom still wasn't home. Sara began to truly worry. She tried his cell phone, which went straight to voice mail.

That led to her pacing the living room and biting her nails. Finally she heard his car pull up, and two minutes later the jangle of his keys in the lock.

He hesitated a moment, before the pale, worried expression on her face registered in his mind, and he moved across the room swiftly, before gathering her into his arms.

Burying his face in the space between her neck and shoulder, he whispered, "I know I should have called and I'm so sorry I worried you, sweetheart."

She could still feel the tension humming through his body and her arms tightened around him, willingly giving him her support and strength and reassurance.

"You've not been at the university all this time, have you?" she asked eventually, feeling the tension slowly release from his body.

He shook his head, pulling back as he said, "Riding roller coasters," his expression unreadable, and an uncertainty in his gaze she hadn't seen in a very long time.

She reached out and touched the cheek, where she'd once brushed off imaginary chalk. His eyes closed briefly, and he inhaled a breath before slowly releasing it again. It was obvious that his usual method of de-stressing hadn't helped. Once more she wondered what exactly Jake had said to him.

"I love you."

He'd become more open in verbally expressing his feelings for her over the last eleven months, especially since a last-minute consult had taken him to L.A while she'd still been pregnant with Daniel. It was the tone in which he said it now, that gave her pause.

Her gaze softened, her hand moving up his cheek as her fingers brushed through his close-cropped greying curls, before gently tracing the three tiny scars on his right eyebrow, the only visible reminder of his encounter with Mike Garrett and his efforts to rescue her.

"I love you, too, sweetheart," she whispered softly, holding his gaze with her own, as her hand settled on the nape of his neck, her other hand gliding up his shoulder, before palming his cheek, as she kissed him.

His arms tightened around her, pulling her close to him as he returned her kiss, almost desperately. When they eventually broke apart, he continued to hold her close, as if centering himself.

"I know you don't want to talk about it, Gil," Sara said, as he reluctantly pulled away, as Hank whined and paced back and forth between their feet, demanding some attention. "But you know whatever he said, isn't true."

"I know it's not, honey," he immediately responded, raising her hand, and kissing her palm, a flash of the old warmth in eyes returning. It was enough to reassure her.

Hank whined, and nudged at Grissom's hand. Sara took the hint.

"Why don't you have a shower, and there's some leftovers that can be heated. I can take Hank…"

"It's fine. I'll take him. I had something while I was out." He kissed her cheek, before grabbing Hank's leash and heading out before she could utter another word.

He returned half an hour later, giving Hank a fresh bowl of water. He checked on his son before heading for a shower, and slipping into bed beside his wife, he snuggled up beside her, holding her close. Content to just be.

* * *

Friday couldn't come fast enough and Sara welcomed the week's end. Since her encounter with Jake and her talk with Karson two days prior, Jake had thankfully said nothing to her. Kahlil finished the case for her processing the motel room with Jake with no fuss and no gossip.

The knowledge that Jake would soon be returning to Seattle had put her in a good mood. What was even better was whatever Grissom had been brooding about since that lunch two days ago seemed to have worked out of his system. She'd respected her husband's choice in not wanting to discuss what happened, just as he had respected her choice not to talk about Jake when he first breezed into town.

It was her scheduled weekend off, and she was looking forward to spending it with her family and friends. And it would start as soon as she was off work. Instead of taking her car to work, she had Gil drive her. The plan was to pick up Daniel and then Sara so the three of them could go to a nearby park for a picnic dinner.

Her last task on that Friday was to process a car from a smash and grab. The garage proved to be stuffy, and after 45 minutes, she took her arms out of her jumpsuit and wrapped the arms around her waist. Standing now in her tank top, she immediately felt cooler. Checking her watch, she thought it was best to text Grissom now about picking her up soon.

" _Almost done for the day. Come by in 20?"_ she texted.

The reply was almost immediate. " _Got Daniel with me. We aren't far. Might be there a little early. I'll wait in the lot._ "

Satisfied and smiling, Sara returned to her task. She worked for another ten minutes when she suddenly felt uncomfortable. It was as if someone was watching her.

She straightened up, to find Jake standing framed in the doorway of the garage, his arms folded across his chest as he watched her appreciatively.

Quickly freeing the arms of the jumpsuit she'd tied around her waist, she shrugged her arms through and quickly fastened it up.

"Oh, come on Sara, what's with the modesty? It's not like I've not seen it all before."

"You lost that right a long time ago," she replied, taking his intrusion as a cue to begin boxing up her evidence and heading home.

Jake stooped down close to where Sara was leaning. "Why don't I get that for you? Since I'm here, I might as well help out."

"Not necessary, thanks." Sara's tone was clipped but she worked to control her emotions. "I'd think you'd be too busy boxing everything up to head back to Seattle, than loitering around in doorways. That sort of behaviour can get you into all sorts of trouble."

"I like trouble."

Sara didn't bite and ignored Jake's reply that dripped with arrogance. Having nothing more to say to him, she walked out of the garage.

* * *

Her first stop was the evidence locker, then the locker room. Instead of changing in front of a locker like normal, Sara opted for privacy in the disabled stall. But that didn't stop her from peeking out of the door every time she heard someone entering the locker room.

After she changed, she made her way to the CSI parking lot, her stride faster than usual. Once outside, she felt some of her anxiety ease until Jake came running up to her, making her stop in her tracks.

"Jake. Please. Just leave."

"Look, Sara, I know I've not made it easy for us working together. And I had no right to say that back in the garage."

"That's right. You didn't and you don't."

"OK. So let me apologise properly and buy you a drink."

Sara huffed and shook her head. "What is wrong with you? I'm not interested in any token apologies you have to say. I'm married, and even if I wasn't, the last thing I'd want to do is have a drink with you!"

She turned to walk away, but he barred her path.

"What's he have that I don't?" Jake wanted to know.

"He has me," stated Sara, matter-of-factly, and she turned to walk away again.

But Jake grabbed her wrist painfully, and jerked her back. "Don't walk away from me, bitch!" he said in in a hash voice, his eyes blazing. "You know he only married you because he was careless enough to get you pregnant. You'd think he'd know better."

Sara tried to pull her arm back, but Jake's grip tightened further. Sara's eyes blazed.

"Listening to locker room gossip again, Jake? That's the trouble with rumours; no one is interested in the truth. You know exactly why we broke up. Your arrogance. Your jealously. And, frankly, you're an asshole."

Jake's gaze blazed with anger. "I'm an asshole!" He screamed. "Bitch, you will regret that."

The sound of a car's engine roared in the closed confines of the parking lot, and the door was flung open, even before the car had come to a complete stop.

"Get your fucking hands off my wife!" Grissom bellowed as his fist slammed into Jake's mouth and nose without any warning.

Jake stumbled backwards, releasing Sara as he did. But Grissom wasn't done. He punched Jake again, grazing his knuckles against Jake's teeth, as blood flew in all directions.

It was Daniel's frightened cry from the backseat of the car that pierced the red fog that clouded Grissom's mind. Jake took advantage of Grissom's distraction, throwing a punch to Grissom's stomach hard enough to knock the wind out of him, and double him over. Another punch landed on Grissom's mouth, splitting his lip and blood ran down his chin as he fell back against a car hood. Jake lashed out again, and blood dripped from his nose.

As Jake raised his fist again, Sara stepped in, grabbing his wrist and twisting it back, putting pressure on his thumb as she pushed it back.

His legs feeling rubbery, Grissom slid from the hood of the car, his back resting against the front bumper as Jake fell to his knees. Sara kept the pressure on Jake's wrist and thumb.

She bent down close to Jake's ear. "He's more the man than you'll ever be, Jake. And he'll _always_ have me."

She released him and knelt down by Grissom's side. His face was drained white, his chest heaved as he fought to calm his rapid breathing. Blood still trickled from his mouth and nose, as did a small graze on his cheekbone.

Sara gently reached out, her fingers grazing his uninjured cheek, and Grissom flinched slightly at her touch, but she didn't withdraw her hand.

Instead, she kissed his forehead gently. "Thank you. You timed that right."

Grissom nodded his head in agreement. He couldn't give Sara much more at this point.

Sara gave a glance back at Jake, who was still reeling on the floor. "Come on, Gil. Let's go home."


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: A lot of cheering for Grissom, as he was finally pushed to take some action with Jake. The question is, will Jake take it like and man, and cut his losses and return to Seattle, or look for retribution instead? There's a lot of (well -deserved) hate going on for Jake...As always many thanks for you comments. I love each and every one. :) Another marvellous beta from the awesome JellybeanChiChi._

* * *

CHAPTER 8

Instead of the picnic they had planned, Sara, Grissom and Daniel returned to the house. Although Sara offered to care for Grissom's injuries, he shrugged her off and retreated to the bathroom to tend to his wounds.

Although they didn't say much to one another, they lavished attention on Daniel, playing with him on the floor, singing songs and watching his favourite video.

After Sara put Daniel down for the night, she stepped into their bedroom and glanced worriedly at her husband as he sat on their bed. His silence and brooding didn't surprise her; she was sure the fight in the parking lot took a lot out of him emotionally and physically.

Jake's demeanour right before Grissom arrived frightened Sara and she truly was grateful her husband showed up when he did. She shuddered to think what Jake would have done to her if Grissom had arrived even a minute later.

Yet she wasn't sure how Grissom handled Sara taking down Jake after he took a beating from the man. While Grissom respected Sara and her ability to defend herself, any man might feel emasculated knowing his 130-pound wife took down a 220-pound man who was using her husband like a punching bag.

Sara didn't see the situation like that and wanted nothing more than to voice that, but she knew her husband well enough. He needed time and space. In the meantime she would quietly offer her support, and understanding, knowing that he'd eventually open up to her.

 _I just need Jake gone,_ she thought to herself. _Back in Seattle. Away from us. So we can enjoy our weekend._

She retreated to the bath to freshen up and change into her nightclothes. When she came back into the bedroom, only the light on her light stand was lit. Grissom was in bed with his back to her.

She slipped into the covers on her side of the bed and turned off the light. As she closed her eyes, she heard Grissom speak.

"Do you have regrets?"

She opened her eyes having heard the reflective tone of his voice. As she wondered the direction of the conversation, she lightly stroked his shoulder.

"Turn around, honey." He did and they looked in each other's eyes. "Do I have regrets about what?"

His mouth pursed in thought, and he winced slightly. He broke eye contact with her. "Us. Do you have regrets about us?"

"No." While her reply was clear, she couldn't mask the worry in her own voice when she asked him, "Do you?"

It was a moment before he nodded his head, and her breath caught in her chest and she had to force herself to breathe.

Sensing her distress her turned to face her. "I don't mean like that," he was quick to reassure her. He sighed in frustration and looked down at his hands pressed fingertip to fingertip. It was a moment before he spoke again.

"I regret that everything was so much harder here than San Francisco. For allowing becoming Supervisor to get in the way of everything I wanted most. For thinking a life with you was too much of a risk. Turning you down for dinner after the lab explosion. For wasting so much time…for not being the man you deserved from the start."

Sara grasped his hands in hers.

"Gil, please look at me," she said in a soft voice. She waited patiently for him to comply. He glanced at her briefly, unable to completely hold her gaze.

Moving the covers back, she straddled his lap, and gently turned his cheek to face her. Framing his head in her hands, careful of the cuts and bruises from his fight with Jake earlier, she held his gaze with her own.

"Yes, we could say the time we weren't together was wasted time, but, Gil, I think we needed time. Perhaps if we had gotten together sooner it might never have worked out between us and we could have ended up hating each other."

"You believe that?"

"Yeah. I do," she said. "From the moment we met, no has ever looked at me the way you do. No one has ever accepted me the way you have. You stayed when I told you my deepest secret. You're an amazing father, and a devoted and loving husband."

A mischievous glint twinkled in her eyes, the corner of her mouth twitched upwards in an impish smirk. "A fantastic lover. You're my one and only. You always have."

"Sara," her name was a whispered breath, as his thumb tenderly brushed against her cheek. She hummed as she leaned into his touch, her eyes closing briefly, before gently caressing her lips with his.

The kiss was one of reassurance at first, before igniting a desire so intense. It took them both by surprise.

Her fingers raked through his hair. She titled her head to give him better access to the sensitive spot just below her ear. As he kissed her, molten desire swept through her. Her arms clamped around his head, whispering his name in a breathy moan.

His hands seemed everywhere all at once as they caressed her body. He tugged her tank top over her head, as his mouth claimed her breasts.

She tugged at his t-shirt impatiently, and he moved just long enough to pull it over his head, before claiming her lips with his own, his tongue plunging her mouth.

Their hands journeyed further south, removing the last remaining barriers.

His hands on her hips, she straddled his lap, settling herself on his erect penis. Her hands gripped his shoulders, her lips crushing his in a heated kiss, as they moved together. His grip tightened on her hips that would leave oval-shaped bruises the next morning as the rapture continued to build with every thrust of his hips towards a crashing crescendo. He growled from deep in his throat, while her grip on his shoulders tightened. In a moment, they exploded together.

Sara rested her head against Grissom's forehead. Spent and limp, both breathing heavily, her hands resting on the nape of his neck, his skin and hair damp with sweat.

Grissom wrapped his arms around her waist drawing her closer, kissing her shoulder gently, and sighing contentedly.

* * *

First it was Hank's frantic barking and threatening growls that startled them awake. Then it was the baby monitor on Grissom's side of the bed that sputtered to life as Daniel awoke crying.

Muttering under his breath, Grissom put his on his pyjama bottoms and tugged on his robe to attend to his crying son. As he lifted his son off the crib and soothed him, he wondered what had set off Hank.

With Daniel cradled in his arms, Grissom went into the hallway where he whistled lightly for the dog. Although Hank heard his master, he refused to leave the front door. He continued to growl menacingly, and pawed at the door.

"Hank, come!" Grissom ordered in a hushed command. But still the dog refused to leave the front door, his growl's becoming more menacing.

Carrying Daniel into their room, he handed Daniel over to Sara, before hurriedly pulling on some clothes.

"What's going on?" Sara asked, still half asleep.

"Hank's acting up. Saw an owl or a squirrel outside. Who knows?"

Sara sat up a bit. "Why are you getting dressed?"

"To take Hank for a walk."

Sara leaned over to look at the clock. "Gil, it's almost midnight. Come back to bed."

"He's all wound up," Grissom said with some frustration.

"He'll get over it. Come to bed," Sara said, rubbing circles on Daniel's back as he began to fuss again.

The view of his naked wife under the sheets soothing his son made Grissom smile. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sara's forehead and then one upon his son's. "A walk will do him good. I'll be right back."

Sara glanced down, as Dan wiped his eyes sleepily with the back of his hand, his small face streaked with tears.

Making soothing noises, and giving him his ant, Sara gently rocked him, humming softly. "OK. But don't be long."

* * *

Once outside, Hank made a beeline for some to the shrubs and bushes that lined the edges of the drive and garden. A little annoyed at Hank having woken Daniel, Grissom was in no mood to let the dog explore as freely as he would have.

"It's just a cat, Hank," he hissed quietly, as he headed in the direction of the community park.

Hank huffed, and strained on his lead, but Grissom was determined and Hank soon fell into step with him.

When they were a little distance away, a separate shadow moved from the bushes and began to follow man and dog.

* * *

Jake glanced at his watch, barely able to contain his impatience. He was tired and he still hurt from his clash with Grissom. The guy might be old, but boy he could throw a punch, and he felt a grudging sort of admiration.

He glanced at his watch again, trying to decide if coming to the community park was such a good idea after all. He knew Sara would be furious if she knew he'd followed her home that first night they'd worked together, and realised that he didn't really care what she thought.

Footsteps coming towards him made him smile. His patience had paid off after all. This time, the old guy wouldn't have Sara to protect him. He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket, feeling the reassuring weight of the knuckle-duster.

He turned around, as he said, "Ready for round two, old man?"

* * *

The blow to his stomach was hard and swift. Jake doubled over in pain as he fell to his knees. His head hung low and he had no way to dodge the savage kick to his face. Blood sprayed from his mouth and nose. The force drove his head backwards and the momentum was enough to topple him over on his back.

He groaned in pain, as his hand searched blindly for the knuckle-duster that he hoped was just within reach. Then, he screamed in agony as that same hand was stomped upon. Jake felt the small bones in his hand crush under the force.

Another savage kick to his head followed. Dazedly, his head lolled to the side, as his aggressor's foot rose once more and slammed down upon Jake's exposed throat.

Jake gave a strangled gasp as he tried to breathe. Blood bubbled from his mouth and his chest rose rapidly.

He fought desperately to breathe, but he couldn't.

His chest began to rise and fall more slowly. His struggle for a life-saving breath continued, until, eventually, he had no fight left.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Many thanks for your comments and reviews as always. Some mixed thoughts on last week's chapter, and maybe for the first time, just a little bit of sympathy for Jake. As always an awesome beta by JellybeanChiChi._

* * *

Chapter 9

Nick paused for a few seconds as he took in the scene in front him. He viewed the hive of activity near a small copse of trees that indicated his crime scene. Two patrol cars were parked at an angle, helping to illuminate the scene. Dave Philips was already there.

Taking a deep breath, Nick grabbed his kit and headed across the grass of Desert Breeze Park towards the group of police officers hovering near the body.

As he he drew nearer Brass came down to meet him, and quickly filled him in on the details.

"Anonymous tip off. Said he'd heard two men in a heated argument before it came to blows. He waited until the dust settled before continuing on his way home. And that's when he discovered the body."

Nick drew closer to the body sprawled across the pavement. Walkways branched off towards the soccer and baseball fields off to his left and to the Skate Park to his right. Dave Phillips looked up as Nick approached, snapping on a pair of latex gloves.

"There's no ID. I'd say he's been dead no more than two hours at most. Rigor's just starting to present."

Nick stopped dead in his tracks, his face turning white.

"I recognize this guy," he stated, his voice betraying his shock at the discovery. "Jake, a visiting CSI, from Seattle. He was working a case with Sara."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Nick suddenly wished he didn't snag that apple from the break room on his way out to the scene. His stomach turned sour as he replayed in his mind the image of Grissom raising his fist in readiness to strike Jake. He'd witnessed more than one instance of Jake pushing Grissom and Sara's buttons over the last week and half. The final straw for Grissom had been when Jake had frightened Daniel and then been derogatory about Sara.

The Grissom Nick knew 10 years ago had changed to the Grissom today. Nick could never forget a memory from a year ago when Grissom invited the team to his and Sara's home for a barbecue. While Grissom grilled, a very pregnant Sara came to her husband's side. Without thinking, Grissom smiled, placed his hand on Sara's bump and then leaned forward to kiss her.

No way the Grissom of 10 years ago would have done any of that in front of the team. Nick knew the biggest priority in Grissom's life were Sara and their son. And that cemented realization caused some very disturbing scenarios to tumble through Nick's mind as he saw Jake's dead, murdered body.

There was just no way that Grissom could somehow be involved in this, Nick thought. _Hoped_.

He glanced over Jake's body, taking note of the cuts and bruises on Jake's face, the bloody mess of his throat, and the swollen and bruised right hand. Whatever had happened here, had been vicious and brutal.

With professional focus, Nick gathered evidence and photographed the body. Once he was done, and the body had been removed, he made a detailed search of the surrounding area, before returning to the lab.

That feeling of dread was now a leaden weight in his stomach.

* * *

Once Nick returned to the lab, he headed straight to autopsy.

"What can you tell me, Doc?" Nick asked he as approached the coroner.

"David said this is a visiting CSI?" Doc Robbins asked, as he gestured towards the body, glancing at Nick, who confirmed the question. "Well, that'll will make ID'ing him easier, since he's prints will already be in the system. Time of death is between midnight and 1 a.m. The small bones of his right hand were crushed, there is extensive bruising to his face, and torso, suggesting that he may have been in fight shortly before he died.

"There's signs of cyanosis across the skin, and petechiae in the eyes. Cause of death is asphyxiation caused by a crushed larynx. I found odd shaped bruising around the area. I found a similar pattern of post-mortem bruising on his hand and torso," Robbins explained, indicating the right hand, and then lifting the sheet slightly, to show Nick the bruising on Jake's ribs and chest.

"You think he was stomped on?" Nick asked, wanting to make certain that he was following the older man. The sick feeling in his stomach increased.

Robbins nodded. "This was a savage and brutal attack. A rage killing. I swabbed the throat and sent it off to DNA, and I also took photos of the bruising." Robbins added as he offered Nick an envelope.

"Thanks Doc," said, Nick quietly, taking the photos and gathering up Jake's bagged clothes as he left autopsy, not liking the direction the evidence seemed to be leading him in. He hoped – prayed – that he was wrong.

* * *

Once in the layout room, Nick began processing Jake's clothes, quickly finding traces of blood on his sweater, jacket and jeans. It was while he was studying the photos of the bruising on Jake's hand, that his pager beeped with a message from Wendy.

"You've got results already?" he asked Wendy with some surprise, when he reached DNA. The expression on her face unreadable.

"The swab that Doc Robbins took, showed canine DNA in the sample. Normally when a dog is impounded during a criminal case they're put into a database. When I checked canine codis, there were no matches."

Nick shook his head, feeling a strange mix of confusion and relief.

"There were no bite marks on the vic – so how did canine DNA get there?"

Wendy shrugged, "I don't know, but it could be explained by this," she said, as she handed him the printout.

Nick's mouth dropped open, alarm flashing across his face as he looked back at Wendy.

"Are you absolutely sure about this?!"

"I ran the test three times, before I paged you."

Still in denial, Nick shook his head again, as he flipped open his phone. He took his eyes off the printout, only long enough to hit speed dial. The call was answered after two rings.

"Catherine can you meet me in DNA? We have a problem. A _big_ problem."

Within five minutes Catherine had been updated on the developments of Nick's case.

Her mouth dropped open, unable to hide her surprise at what she was seeing.

"There's no mistake about this?" Catherine asked for the third time, wanting to make certain.

Again Wendy shook her head. "I immediately ran the test again three more times to be sure, before I paged Nick. There's no mistake."

Catherine glanced at the results once more, hoping that by some miracle, they'd change. They hadn't.

"I know I don't need to say this..." Catherine began, but Wendy cut her off.

"... I won't say a word." Wendy finished for her, with a nod of reassurance.

Catherine nodded firmly, knowing that she could count on Wendy.

"So what do we do now?" Nick wanted to know.

"We treat this case like any other, Nick," Catherine stated with authority. "We have no choice," she added as he was about to protest. "I don't like this any more than you do. I need to know that you're going to be okay working this, Nicky. I can assign..."

"No," Nick shook his head vehemently. "I want to see this case through, Catherine."

Catherine nodded briskly, with a slight upturn of her mouth, expecting nothing less.

"I want you to call Brass, then Warrick and Tristan. I want all hands on deck, on this one. I'll inform Conrad."

Catherine quickly hurried from the DNA lab, as she promptly rang the Sheriff.

* * *

"Morning, beautiful," Grissom gave his customary greeting to his wife, as he embraced her from behind, and kissed her neck, the next morning.

Sara paused in her breakfast preparations, as she leaned back against his chest, a smile edging her mouth as she tilted her head to one side, as Grissom nuzzled her neck.

She turned around in his arms to face him, frowning slightly as she quickly took in the bruising that was starting to appear, from his fight with Jake the previous night.

Seeing her concern, he gently tightened his hold around her, reassuringly.

"I'm fine," he assured her. "Probably looks worse than it is."

Sara still looked doubtful, hating to see him hurt or in pain.

"Honey, I'm fine," he said a little more firmly, kissing her thoroughly to prove his point, and sweeten the moment further. "We've got plans today, that don't include Jake Sullivan. He's probably back in Seattle by now, and out of our lives for good."

Daniel, disliking being ignored, banged nosily on the tray of his high chair, before pushing back against the backrest, his small body rising against the restraints that held him in place. He gave a frustrated cry, kicking his small legs angrily.

"Someone is in a grumpy mood," Grissom commented, releasing his hold on his wife and turning his attention towards their son. Daniel's bottom lip pouted out, tears pooling in his brown eyes. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, with the back of his fingers, turning away from his father, as he approached.

Remembering the reason for Daniel's foul mood, Sara turned her attention back to the waffles she was making.

"It took awhile for him to settle after you took Hank for a walk last night," Sara explained, as she plated up the waffles for her and Grissom, before cutting up some for Daniel. "He was still restless even after you got back, and Hank's pacing didn't help."

"I'm sorry, Honey," said Grissom, in a regretful tone, as they settled down to breakfast together. "Taking Hank out seemed the best thing to do at the time. I don' t know what's gotten into him lately."

Once breakfast was over, they cleaned up the breakfast dishes, with the synchronisation they'd once worked crime scenes together. Paying Daniel attention and chatting about their plans for the upcoming barbecue early that evening.

Shortly after 9 am, Sara was just putting the finishing touches to the shopping list, and Grissom had just finished washing and changing Daniel ready for their shopping trip, when the knock came.

Grissom answered the door carrying Daniel, as Hank danced around his feet, tail wagging furiously as he greeted, a solemn looking Jim Brass, and a nervous looking Nick Stokes and two uniformed police officers.

Grissom glanced at Jim and Nick, as he shifted Daniel more securely in his arms, as he wriggled fussily in his father's arms, sucking his pacifier busily.

"You're quite a bit early for the barbecue, Jim," Grissom tried to dispel the air of tension that surrounded the group.

"What can I say – it's a fault," stated Jim stoically. "Can we talk inside?"

Grissom's eyes narrowed slightly.

"What's this about, Jim?"

Jim immediately noticed the grazed knuckled of his right hand, and Grissom felt a pang of unease.

"It' ll be better inside, Gil. Shall we?" was Brass' only comment.

Pulling the door back further, Grissom stepped back allowing them entrance, before closing the door, and heading towards the kitchen.

* * *

"So, are you going to tell us what this is about?" Grissom asked as Sara took Daniel from him. Daniel immediately reached out for his father again. Once back in his father's arms, Daniel settled his head on Grissom's shoulder, his eyes heavy with sleep. Sara gave him his ant, his small fingers worrying one of the legs as Grissom rocked him absently.

Jim indicated Grissom's grazed knuckles and bruised face.

"If I didn't know you better, I'd say you got into a beef with someone."

Grissom's expression changed from one of wary curiosity to carefully controlled anger, in the blink of an eye.

"So that's what this is about," he stated, in a biting tone. "Jake comes off worse and so he's pressing charges? He'd have been better off tucking his tail between his legs and getting on a plane back to Seattle, than wasting your time."

"I cant believe his pressing charges," Sara joined in, shaking her head at Jake's nerve, as she stood closer to Grissom by the counter.

"I'm afraid it's a lot more serious, than a case of pressing charges, Gil," stated Jim, his demeanour growing more serious. "Jake Sullivan is dead."

" _What!"_ Grissom and Sara both gasped.

"You don't really think that Gil has something to do with this, Jim?" Sara asked stunned.

Brass' tone when he spoke was filled with the hope that Grissom could explain himself. "Sullivan was found dead in Desert Breeze Park. I need to know your whereabouts between midnight and 1 a.m. this morning, Gil."

Grissom and Sara glanced at one another, their faces pale and shocked.

Grissom swallowed nervously as he glanced back a Jim and Nick. "Hank was unsettled, and woke the whole house up," Grissom slowly explained. "So I took him for a walk around midnight. Got back after 1 a.m."

Jim's shoulders sagged as if under a great weight. He turned his head slightly towards Nick, wishing that this had turned out differently. Nick licked his dry lips nervously, as he stepped forward with a piece of paper, that shook noticeably as he handed it to Grissom.

In an apologetic tone of voice, Nick said, "I've a warrant to search for further evidence, and I need the clothes you were wearing last night."


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N; Many many thanks as always for your comments and reviews, and PM's. THey are always very much appreciated and i look forward to your thoughts with every chapter posted. Lots of defense for Grissom in that last chapter. Another awesome beta from JellybeanChiChi. I really couldn't do this without you :)_

* * *

CHAPTER 10

Holding the search warrant in his hand, Grissom took a deep breath as he passed Daniel to Sara. "There in the hamper in the master bedroom. I'll show you..."

Sara steadied him with a hand on his arm, at the same time as Jim spoke.

"I need you to stay here, Gil," Brass reminded him as Sara bristled beside Grissom.

"Do you really think he's capable of doing this? That he'd murder someone? Jake had no business even being in the park."

Brass raised up a hand to halt Sara before she went any further. "It's protocol, Sara, you know this." He tried not to placate Sara, but knew it was probably hell being on this end of law enforcement. "You've done this a thousand times before. The evidence is only telling one of side of the story. Until then, let Nick do his job."

Sara sighed in frustration, knowing that right now there wasn't much she could do about it.

"Fine!" she huffed. "Our room's to the immediate left at the top of the stairs."

"I'm really sorry about this," Nick said quietly, as he passed them, and headed towards the stairs, kit in hand.

"It may be best if you came down to PD to answer a few more questions, Gil," Brass continued after Nick had disappeared upstairs.

"Am I under arrest?" Grissom asked. Although his right eyebrow was raised, his face paled slightly.

"No," stated Brass. "But it might be a good idea if you called your lawyer. One other thing; Hank will need to go with animal control. They're waiting outside."

" _Why_?" Sara demanded. "What has Hank got to do with this! He's not a vicious dog! We wouldn't trust him around Daniel if he was."

"It's part of the investigation. That's all I can say right now."

"Sara," Grissom warned softly, as he gently rubbed his son's back. "I'm sure once I've made a statement and answered a few questions, both Hank and I, will be back before you know."

"If you're going to PD, then I'm coming with you..."

"Honey, there's no need," Grissom tried to reassure her. "You continue on with the preparations for the barbecue as planned. I'll be back in a few hours at most. What you can do is call Wilbur for me. Tell him to meet me at PD."

He offered a brief smile as he leaned forward and lightly kissed her on the mouth, his large hand gently caressing Daniel's head, before he turned with a nod at Jim and the two polices officers.

"Gil, I'm coming with you," Sara stated adamantly, permitting no further argument from her husband. "The barbecue can wait."

As Sara followed them out, she dialled Wilbur Jacobsen's number. She hoisted Daniel more securely in her arms and snagged his fully stocked diaper bag kept near the front door.

* * *

Nick hesitated a moment, outside of Grissom and Sara's bedroom, taking a moment to gather himself. Taking a deep breath, he gently pushed on the partly open door.

The bedroom, somehow hadn't been what he'd been expecting. While it wasn't his first visit to the townhouse, it was the first time, he'd had reason to be in his former boss' bedroom. He'd expected to find evidence of Grissom's beloved bugs, and when he didn't he was both relieved and strangely disappointed.

The room was airy, with traces of Sara's influence. The left side of the bed was clearly Grissom's, judging by the bric-a-brac on the night stand, which included an empty water glass, a spare pair of his reading glasses, an entomology magazine, and a baby monitor. The right side night stand consisted of another empty water glass, a box of tissues, a forensics journal, a digital clock and a bottle of moisturiser.

Entering the en suite bathroom, Nick pulled on a pair of gloves and switched on the light, unable to help the quick smile that lifted the corners of his mouth at the sight of the butterfly and green vegetation motif.

The bathroom consisted of a bath tub and walk-in shower. The smell of fresh soap and shampoo still lingered in the air.

To his left stood the hamper, and putting his kit down with a heavy sigh, Nick, began his search.

After bagging and initializing the items of clothing, Nick began his search of the closet. None of the footwear there visually matched the bruises on Jake's body.

Taking the evidence that he'd gathered so far, Nick made sure to secure the townhouse, before he returned to the lab.

Flies buzzed lazily around the trash can, and Nick quickly snapped on a pair of gloves, before lifting the lid, and examining the contents. His heart sank.

* * *

Sara carried a sleeping Daniel in his car seat as she walked into PD. She caught sight of her husband, Brass and Ecklie just outside an interrogation room. They were speaking with a man man in his late 30s, who, for some inexplicable reason, reminded Sara of a rook or raven.

"Mr. Grissom? I'm Hobson Nash, and I'll be taking on your case." Nash was thin, of medium height, a receding hair line, a hookish nose, and beady black eyes. "I regret to tell you, that Wilbur Jacobsen is unavailable, dealing with a family emergency out of town. Shall we?"

As Nash made his way into the interrogation room, Grissom glanced quickly in Sara's direction, before following the lawyer into the room.

Once Grissom and Nash disappeared, Ecklie and Brass made their way over to Sara.

"It's been a while since I've seen you Sara. Sorry it's under these circumstances," Ecklie intoned as they approached her.

"Come on, Conrad, do you really think that Gil is capable of something like this?" Sara wanted to know.

"I have my thoughts, but you're not going to like them," Ecklie warned, as Sara's eyebrow arched.

"Since when did that ever stop you in the past?" Sara snapped back, with an irritable huff.

Ecklie chose to disregard her barb, putting it down to her anxiety for Grissom.

"Well," he stated taking a deep breath before leaping in feet first. "What I know of Grissom, is that where you're concerned, he'll do just about anything."

He raised his hands in a placating gesture as Sara stood taller her shoulders back, her features darkening as she gathered herself in defence of her husband.

"But murder?" Ecklie shook his head. "That's a step too far, even for him."

Sara smirked, and nodded her head, curtly.

"I'm glad that you agree. There's no valid reason for Jake to have been in that park. Or that he'd know for sure that Gil would take Hank there at the time he did."

"Sara you know we can't discuss the details of an on-going investigation," Ecklie reminded her. "And frankly you really shouldn't be here. Because of your relationship its a conflict of interest. The best thing you can do, is go home with your son, and..."

Sara laughed, and shook her head, as she picked up Daniel's car seat.

"The last place I'm going to be when Gil needs my support is home, Conrad. I'm here to support my husband," she finished as she headed towards the observation room.

Detectives Tristan Bowden and Matty Foster had already started interviewing Grissom as Sara, Brass and Ecklie witnessed the scene through the two-way mirror.

"...I didn't see him again after the diner, until I picked my wife up from work last night. He was being rough with her." Grissom finished his explanation.

"And that's why you fought?"

"It was reason enough. I didn't like the guy, but I didn't kill him. He was alive when we left the CSI parking lot." Grissom insisted.

"The evidence says otherwise, Mr. Grissom," stated Tristan Bowden, questioning Grissom, and placing several photos on the table in front of him. "DNA on Jake's clothing is a match to you."

"Of their fight," stated Nash, finally joining in. "Which my client has already admitted to. He's explained the circumstances regarding that. He was concerned for his wife and son's safety. I see nothing here that my client can be charged with, since the man is dead. It's unfortunate, but.."

"Explain to us, why you were in the park, between midnight and 1 a.m.," Detective Matty Foster asked.

Grissom sighed with frustration and his fists clenched unconsciously on the table top.

"I was there, because I thought it would help settle my dog. It wasn't the first time, I've walked him there at that time. Lately he's been restless, I thought it would help calm him, after he awoke the household, barking and whining. I thought he'd been after a squirrel or an owl."

A knock on the door, prevented any further questioning, and Detective Foster rose to his feet to answer it.

"My client has answered all your questions," said Nash, once the detective had returned to his seat ten minutes later. "Now unless you plan to charge my client with anything, then I suggest.."

"Not so fast Mr. Nash," Foster held up a hand to stop the lawyer in his tracks. "New evidence has just come in."

Rather than continue, Detective Foster sat with his elbows on the table, one finger resting on his lips as he watched Grissom from across the table, with a ponderous look on his face.

To those that didn't know him well, it would seem that Grissom returned the detective's stare impassively, but Sara knew that he was nervous. Not for the first time that day, she wished she could be there with him to reassure him. That she believed in his innocence.

"You've said that you never saw Jake Sullivan again, after the diner, until you saw him man-handling your wife in the parking lot last night?" Foster finally spoke, ending the oppressive since that had be begun to invade the room.

Grissom nodded.

"The case he was working on with Sara was over, and he was due to fly back to Seattle."

"And as you say, you never saw him in Desert Breeze Park, when you walked your dog….Hank?"

"No."

Foster opened the folder to his left, and took out the photos of Jake once more, spreading them across the table for Grissom and Nash to see clearly. Grissom winced only slightly.

"Then how do you explain this, Mr. Grissom?" Tristan asked, opening the other folder and quickly reading the report. "There were traces of canine DNA in the wound on Jake's throat. They came to back as a match to your dog, Hank."

Grissom's face drained white, and he swallowed reflexively around an impossible lump in his throat.

"But that's impossible!" Grissom gasped. "Hank isn't vicious..."

"These distinctive bruises are made from the sole of a Karrimor Mount men's walking boot," Tristan continued, not giving Grissom a chance to continue. He lifted up an evidence bag that contained a pair of walking boots that Grissom instantly recognised.

"These were found in a white plastic bag, in your trash can. The blood on them is a match to Jake Sullivan. They're also a match to the bruises on Jake's throat and body. The fingerprints on the white bag, were a match to you."

Grissom shook his head.

"You have it all wrong! I had nothing to do with this. We had a fight, but as far as I was concerned it was over. He was returning to Seattle. I put these boots in the trash days ago, maybe even a week ago, because Hank had chewed them, and that explains why his DNA is present. It also explains why my fingerprints are on the bag."

"The evidence speaks loud and clear, Mr. Grissom," interrupted Foster. "You were jealous of Jake's attention to your wife. He also happens to be her ex-lover. Worried that she might return his affections, you set up a meeting. You take Hank for a walk as cover. At first you just want to...talk, but Jake wont listen to reason and so it comes to blows. While he's down you stomp on his throat, crushing his larynx, and he chokes to death."

"That's not what happened. It was Jake that was jealous, because Sara wanted nothing to do with him. I trust my wife. If I had wanted to kill him…"

"Gil, I'm advising you not to say another word..." Hobson tried to caution Grissom. But Grissom furiously carried on, either ignoring the lawyer, or simply not hearing him, in his anger.

"...do you really think I would have left the evidence in plain sight like that?"

"People make mistakes, even the great Gil Grissom," Foster said with a smug smile. "I'm arresting you for the murder of Jake Sullivan…."

Sara gasped in shock as Foster mirandrized Grissom, handcuffed him and lead him away.

She turned sharply towards the door of the observation room, but was blocked by Brass.

"Let me go!" Sara fumed, as sudden angry tears of frustration blurred her vision. "Jim, you and I both know that despite what the evidence suggests, he didn't do this."

"Sara..the first thing you need to do, is calm down, or you'll upset Daniel," Brass began in a calm voice. "The second thing I need you to do, is think this through calmly. You're not going to help Grissom by jumping in with both feet."

Sara half turned towards her son, sitting in the middle of the floor, chewing on his small fist. Seeing his mother, he grinned and pointed a stubby finger in her direction, and babbled excitedly as he kicked his small legs.

"I need to see Gil," Sara stated calmly as she turned to face Brass again. "And Dan needs to see his Daddy. Gil needs to know that I still have faith in him, even if no one else does. And I won't leave here, until I've seen my husband."

Brass sighed, resigned to the knowledge that Sara would dig her heels in. Grateful, at least that he'd managed to placate her for now, he nodded his head.

"I'll see what I can do. And just so you know, I don't believe he did this either."


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: As always many many thanks for the comments. A lot of support from Grissom ( and why not?) in the last chapter. Will things improve this chapter, or is the future going to remain bleak? Of course, this story wouldn't be what it is, without JellybeanChiChi's excellent job as beta._

* * *

CHAPTER 11

A half hour later, Brass led Sara to the holding cells. A few quiet words from Brass, and the three officers silently left.

Grissom was pacing the small confines of the holding cell, as they quietly approached his cell.

"Sara!" Grissom gasped with some surprise.

"I'm not supposed to do this," Brass said, as he unlocked the cell door. "But I'll give you ten minutes alone."

Sara stepped into the cell, placing the car seat containing Daniel on the floor by their feet.

Grissom stared at her for a full two seconds before embracing her and pulling her tightly against his body, burying his face in the space between her neck and shoulder. His eyes closed, as his arms tightened slightly as he took comfort from her.

"I couldn't leave without seeing you," Sara said her voice muffled as she drew him even closer to her, relishing the feeling of his broad form. Her fingers splayed across the back of his neck, before running through his close cropped curls.

"I know how it looks," Grissom said worriedly, pulling back only so he could see her face. "...but I didn't..."

"Shhh, it's okay," Sara softly reassured him, her hand moving down from his hair, to his rub his cheek. "I know you weren't responsible for this."

Relieve flooded Grissom, as he closed his eyes briefly as he leaned into her caress, allowing himself for the moment to forget. He inhaled slowly, allowing her reassurance to seep into his body.

When Grissom opened his eyes, his expression was both serious and hopeful.

"It's the weekend, so my hearing won't be until Monday. Despite the charge, I think they'll allow me to be released on my own recognizance. My record within law enforcement should speak for itself."

Sara hoped he would be correct. That they would release him for the weekend. But her gut told her the insanity of his arrest would just continue and he wouldn't be able to come home.

"I'll let your Mom know," Sara began, but Grissom shook his head.

"Honey, lets not worry her with this. At least not right now."

"Gil, she needs to know, you can't just let her find out on the evening news. And, even if there is a chance you will be released, then there's still the hearing on Monday. You really can't keep this from her."

Grissom bit on his bottom lip, nervously, and shook his head. He swallowed with difficulty, his eyes downcast.

He was frightened and so was Sara.

"We'll get through this," Sara embraced him again, pulling herself closer to his body. "Together, just like we always do. I love you, Gil. Remember that."

His arms gently tightened around her, not wanting to ever let her go. But a few minutes later, Grissom reluctantly released his wife, as Daniel grew restless in the car seat.

Grissom squatted down besides his son, a small smile on his face, as Daniel turned his brown-eyed gaze to his Daddy, and grinned delightedly, as his legs kicked wildly in excitement.

"Hey buddy," Grissom said quietly, with only the slightest hitch to his voice. Sara's hand was warm as she squeezed Grissom's shoulder before rubbing across his shoulders and back.

Daniel lifted his arms up, clearly wanting a cuddle from Grissom, and he quickly unfastened the baby from his car seat, and taking the boy in his arms, stood up, his knees popping as he did so.

Sara rubbed Grissom's arm, lightly as her other hand rubbed Daniel's back. It had been hours since they had all been together as a family, and for just a moment they could just be.

Brass walked in a few minutes later, his expression telling them that it wasn't good news.

"I'm really sorry to break up the family reunion, but you really should leave now, Sara."

"They won't release him until the hearing Monday," Sara stated matter-of-factly. Though she had been expecting it, a feeling of nausea swept over her all the same. "He's not a flight risk," she hissed, frustrated at the injustice of keeping an innocent man from his family.

"I'm sorry Gil," Brass said including Grissom in his glance. "I did everything I could on your behalf to swing this, but the D.A won't budge. I even pushed the fact you have an infant son, and he still wouldn't move."

"I'm sure you did your best, Jim," Grissom acknowledged as he straightened up from returning his son to the car seat.

"I think you should know, that I don't believe for one minute that you're guilty of this," Brass continued his voice dropping low, so only Grissom and Sara could hear him. "And neither do Catherine and the team. We'll get to the bottom of this Gil. You can count on it."

Grissom nodded appreciatively, for the moment unable to quite trust his voice. Sensing their time growing shorter, Grissom turned to his wife and embraced her one final time.

Fighting back tears, Sara hugged him tightly, hating this moment of enforced separation.

"I love you," Grissom whispered hoarsely, with a final squeeze. He unexpectedly kissed her, before he released her.

As Brass locked the cell door, and started to escort Sara back down the corridor, Sara glanced back over her shoulder for a last glimpse of Grissom. He was stood beside the door, watching her progress. She wasn't fooled by the neutral expression on his face.

It was going to be a long weekend.

"I'll check in on him over the weekend," Brass murmured, as they continued into PD. "And if there is anything I can do to help, I want you to call me. Got it?" he asked as he turned to face her, a fatherly look on his face.

Sara bit her lip and glanced one final time, towards holding. She faced Brass again, worrying her bottom lip.

"What do you think he's chances are, on Monday?"

Brass shook he's head sympathetically.

"Sweetheart, that's down to the judge," he said soothingly. "But given the years of service he's given to Clark County, a judge would have to be an idiot not to release him on his own recognizance. The D.A just got lucky this time. He'll be home with you and that handsome little fella before you know it."

* * *

As Sara left PD, Sara debated with herself on whether she should inform her mother-in-law of the day's events, despite Gil's protests.

Deciding, ultimately, that it would be better coming from her, rather than the news, Sara, swung the Prius towards Betty's house. She could also reassure the elderly woman she believed, without any doubt that Gil was innocent. Plus, there was a good chance he would be released following his hearing on Monday. Sara had no doubt that Betty would want to be there, to support her son, and Sara wasn't going to deny her that.

Besides, the added bonus of seeing her only grandson, might help soften the blow.

* * *

Arriving home just an hour before sunset, Sara sighed tiredly as she lifted a sleepy Daniel from the car seat and snagged his diaper bag, before heading into the house.

Almost immediately the oppressive silence pressed heavily down on her, with no Hank or Grissom there to greet her.

Sara felt tears prick her eyes as she dropped the diaper bag unceremoniously by the door, and headed into the kitchen. The morning preparations for the barbecue were still evident on the kitchen counters, and Sara's stomach turned sickeningly.

Sara sniffed in an effort to fight back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her, concentrating on attending to Daniel, before saving what preparations she could, while recycling others.

Just as she finished off, and was about to bathe Daniel and settle him down the night, the doorbell rang.

"Gil..." she called absently, before the jarring reality that he wasn't there, struck her full force.

Taking her son with her, Sara made her way cautiously to the front door and checked the spyhole before opening the door. On her doorstep stood her former team-mates.

"Hey, Girl, how ya holding up?" Warrick asked gently as he stepped inside, squeezing her shoulder in support. "We're really sorry about Griss. We'd have stopped by sooner, but..." Warrick shrugged as Catherine pushed her way in, managing to draw Sara and Daniel both, into a hug.

"I hope you didn't think we'd let you go through this alone?" She asked with a supportive smile. And Sara felt her hopes rise as each of her friends offered their support.

Only Nick held back, still unsure of how she'd feel about him being there, since he was part of the reason why Grissom was in custody.

Sara moved to his side and hugged him the best she could with a wriggling baby in her arms. "You're only doing your job, Nick," she assured him, quietly, so the others wouldn't hear. "Just like he'd expect you to. Just do one thing for me; look for innocence, rather than guilt."

Nick moved away slightly away from her, shaking his head. "Sara, I saw enough to know that Jake was a first-class jerk. But not for a second, do I think Griss did this, despite what the evidence says."

With that established, Catherine returned to Sara and Nick's side, and took Daniel from Sara's arms, snuggling the baby close.

"I swear he looks more like Grissom every day," she declared, as she give Sara a critical once over. "And you look like hell," she observed, with a grin.

Sara stared at her friends for a moment, before choosing to take the banter in the vein it was meant.

"Well, it's been a hellish kind of day," Sara returned.

* * *

Once Catherine and the guys left two hours later, Sara checked on Daniel before turning in for the night herself. Her friend's support had had the desired effect in bolstering her spirits, and while it hadn't been the evening originally planned, she was grateful they stopped by anyway.

But now, she was alone once more, and her thoughts returned to Grissom, and how he might be coping.

She missed him. Usually, when he was away teaching, they had the luxury of phone calls to stay connected. But this time, even that was impossible.

Aware that she slept less well without him next to her, she slipped the t-shirt he'd worn the night before over her head, and inhaled deeply, smelling strongly of him.

Overwhelmed by the events of the day, a combination of missing her husband and a tiredness that seemed to go bone deep, Sara burst into tears.

Eventually she fell into an exhausted sleep, her tears soaking into her husband's pillow.

* * *

Sara woke to the sounds of her son, softly cooing and babbling through the baby monitor the following morning. Normally, Grissom would turn it off, when he got up to attend to Daniel.

Sara laid there a moment longer, with a sense of exhaustion still pervading her body, with her eyes closed, as she listened to Daniel.

Anxiety was added to the mix as nausea gripped her stomach, forcing her to make a hasty dash to the bathroom.

* * *

Taking advantage of the early morning once breakfast was done, Sara headed outside into the rear garden with Daniel. Making sure he was adequately protected from the hot desert sun, she placed him in a walker, where she could watch him contentedly play as she worked around the rose bushes and other shrubs and vegetation that she'd encouraged to grow. The roses had been taken from cuttings, from a bouquet Grissom had sent her the previous year while he'd been a consult in L.A.

A smile played about her lips as she fondly recalled the team surprising her with prepaid flight tickets for a weekend there with him, when the consult had been extended. In turn, he'd surprised her on his early return, and then proposing to her in his office. They'd married that same day.

She was brought from her wandering thoughts by Daniel banging enthusiastically on the various toys and textures on the walker, and shouting exuberantly, and she couldn't help the smile of delight that lightened the worry from her. He was definitely a bonus to her marriage with Grissom.

* * *

After putting Daniel down for his afternoon nap, Sara's cell rang and she quickly fished it out of her jeans pocket before it could wake her son.

"Sidle," she answered softly as she left the door ajar, and made her way back downstairs.

"Sara, it's Jim. Gil's fine," he quickly assured her, hearing her alarmed intake of breath. "I just wanted to give you a heads up. Gil's hearing is tomorrow first thing, so he's asked me to swing by and pick up a suit for him. He said you'd know which one. He also said to pass on that he loves you, and he can't wait to back home with you tomorrow."

Sara smiled despite herself. "Sure I'll have the suit ready. Is he really okay, Jim?"

"As well as can be expected. He's scared, but he knows we're all behind him."

"Tell him I love him, too," Sara tried to sniff back the tears that were threatening once more, the anxiety settling in the centre of her abdomen.

"Sure, but I'll leave the kissing to you," Brass dead panned, trying to alleviate some of Sara's worry.

Sara ended the call with a smile on her face. But her cell buzzed almost immediately. She quickly answered and her face paled as she listened to the voice on the other end.

"But he's not even been tried yet!" Sara defended her husband, as the voice at the other end, delivered more bad news. "He's innocent until proven guilty and you're already hanging him out to dry! Yeah, well I'm sorry too!" Sara fumed before furiously hanging up.

Ten minutes later she was still angry at the injustice of it all, when Brass knocked on the door as promised.

He immediately asked what was wrong.

"The university have called, they got wind of Gil's arrest and have terminated his employment there. He's not even been to court yet!"

Brass bit his lip and picked up the TV remote. "There's more bad news," he said as he flicked on the TV.

" _...Gil Grissom, former Supervisor of the Graveyard Shift of the Las Vegas Crime Lab, was arrested and charged with the murder of Jake Sullivan, 35, a visiting CSI from Seattle…."_

Sara watched with dismay as Paula Francis continued with the details of the case, before Brass quietly flicked off the TV.

"Ecklie's looking into the source of the leak. He was hoping to keep this on the QT for as long as he could. Now he wants heads to roll on this. Now, it's going to be a media circus and make this ten times harder than it is."

* * *

Monday, found Sara sitting nervously in the court room, waiting for Gil to appear. Betty was sitting to her right, equally nervous as she silently took in her surroundings, and occasionally signing questions to Sara. Daniel's car seat was between their feet. Sara had deliberately dressed him in a Cub's outfit, simply because she knew Grissom would like it. Brass sat to her left, with the rest of the team taking up seating directly behind them.

Sara's nervousness grew as the court rose with the appearance of Judge Lyndon Carrigan. In the past Sara had known him to be fair but firm in his rulings. She felt some of her unease lessen knowing that he would be presiding over the case.

Shortly after the judge's arrival, Grissom was led out, with Hobson Nash at his side. Grissom instinctively glanced over in Sara's direction, and although he didn't acknowledge her in anyway, she knew that he had seen her.

Though he seemed pale, and understandably tense, Sara thought he looked as handsome as ever in his suit. Although she'd not been able to speak to her husband directly, she had been able to speak to Nash. He was hopeful that things would go well.

Grissom stood as the charges were read out to the court.

Judge Carrigan glanced over his half-moon glasses that were perched on the end of his nose, at Grissom.

"How do you plead Mr. Grissom?"

"Not guilty, your honor," Grissom responded, as he worried the wedding band around his finger.

Judge Carrigan then turned his gaze to the prosecuting D.A. Ladd Sayers. "Bail considerations, Mr. Sayers?"

"We are requested that bail be remanded, your honor."

Sara and the team gasped in shock, as Sara threw a disbelieving look Brass' way.

Grissom's face paled further, and he struggled to swallow.

"I request that my client be released on his own recognizance, your honor," Hobson motioned. "My client's long-standing and impeccable career in law enforcement should be allowed to speak for itself. He's not considered a flight risk. He's a family man, with an infant son..."

"The fact that he's ex-law enforcement, shouldn't automatically grant him a free ride," the D.A. said. "We're talking first degree murder."

"Your honor, the evidence against my client, is circumstantial at best. The last thing I'm asking for is 'a free ride,' but his work with the crime lab, is well documented. He's done a lot for Clark County and worked many high and low profile cases."

Sayers shook his head his dismissively, as he glanced at Grissom, with a contemptuous look.

"Your honor, just before he was arrested Mr. Grissom quipped with the detectives who questioned him that he should be able to hide evidence of his crimes. That in and of itself should be enough for remand," Sayers said. "Our office has had experience with former law enforcement and were accused on leniency when Rory Dunbar was arrested and stood trial last year. The citizens of Las Vegas deserve the security in knowing that my office will prosecute to the best of its ability someone who breaks the law and is a potential danger and flight risk, regardless of their standing in the community."

The nausea that Sara had been feeling since waking up that morning increased as she listened to the prosecutor state his case. And Sara understood that things might not be as plain sailing as Hobson expected them to be.

Sara turned to Brass with alarm.

"What's the deal with the D.A?" she whispered. "He's determined to hang Gil out to dry."

Brass let out a quite groan. "Ladd Sayers is going places and he wants people to remember that. He's running for re-election so he's politically motivated. He's stance is being tough on law and order, and particularly those that are seen as abusing their power."

Sara groaned and rolled her eyes, the queasiness returning.

"And that's going to be very bad news for Gil," Sara whispered. "While he makes his career on making an example of my husband."

"We ask for remand because the crime was violent and cold-blooded. Mr. Grissom showed no remorse for his victim and tried to cover his crimes," Sayers made his closing statement.

"The court should know that Mr. Grissom has not been prosecuted for any crime, your honor," Hobson responded. "If you send my client to jail then he will be put at risk if prisoners realize he worked in law enforcement. Please, your honor, consider recognizance. For his safety and for his infant son."

"He should have considered his safety and his young son, before committing murder. He is _not_ above the law."

"Gentlemen, I have heard enough," Judge Carrigan said sternly, and the two warring lawyer's grew quiet. He paused for only a moment or two before bidding Grissom to rise.

"After listening to both arguments, I'm compelled to acknowledge the prosectuor's request for remand. Mr. Grissom, you will be ordered to stay in jail until the time of the trial."

Grissom's ghostly pale face registered the shock felt by all those present to support him. His frightened eyes sought out Sara, whose face was equally

stunned. Stunned disbelief was the predominant emotion Grissom held as he was led away to jail.


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Once again, many thanks for all of your reviews/comments and PM's. I am glad that you are "enjoying" this journey, even if its not going quite the way you were hoping. I struggled a lot with this chapter - not just in terms of content. It's a hard chapter to read. Maybe have a box of tissues handy. To make up (I hope) for the violence in this chapter, I think you will love next week's chapter, at least in part :) Many thanks to JellybeanChiChi, not only for the amazing beta, (and suggestions) but also for your patience, and words of encouragement, when the doubts really set in._

* * *

Chapter 12

The judgement made Grissom feel numb. After Judge Carrigan's verdict, Grissom had been swiftly handcuffed and led from the courtroom, Sara's, shocked pale face and haunted eyes, had been the last thing he'd seen as a free man.

His lawyer, Hobson Nash, and Jim Brass had protested loudly and vehemently on his behalf, he'd later learned. And while they had not been able to over turn the decision, they had managed to get Grissom a cell to himself. For that small victory he was grateful.

The drive to High Desert had been long, tiring and uncomfortable, as the prison transport bus had dropped off several inmates to the various Nevada State Prisons. There had been three others with Grissom.

After being booked, Grissom had been forced to remove his wedding band. It had brought an ache to his heart, as it was placed with his other meagre belongings in storage, before heading to the showers and shaving his beard.

Gil Grissom had considered himself a ghost in high school, and he hoped to revisit that moniker while in prison.

* * *

Grissom woke with a start as thunder boomed loudly, overhead. Three quick flashes of lightning illuminated his prison cell, in an eerie light.

He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position on an uncomfortable mattress, was fast becoming an impossibility. His eyes closed, as he concentrated on bringing his breathing under control and quell the panic that his dream had instilled in him.

He wished Sara was there beside him. Neither of them had ever been sound sleepers. As their relationship had progressed and they had started sleeping together, he had learned that Sara was still prone to having nightmares. On those times, he'd hold her securely in his arms and soothe her. Often times he had stayed awake to simply watch over her, if sleep had reclaimed her.

Then there were occasions when that role had been reversed, and Sara had comforted him. For two people who had spent most of their adult lives sleeping alone, they had learned they slept _better_ when the other was beside them.

Grissom sighed, as a familiar ache settled in his chest. He'd not slept well, since his arrival at High Desert State Prison, three days prior.

Another flash of lightning lit the cell as the storm continued to vent its fury outside the prison walls. He found the inclement weather suited his mood perfectly.

Jake's bloodied face, drifted across his mind and Grissom was once again reminded of his dream and the reason for his waking. The dead man's taunting voice still echoed in his ears, and Grissom felt his anger rise, replacing the momentary feeling of panic that had first consumed him. There were very few people in life who Grissom loathed. But Jake Sullivan had been one of them.

His reappearance in Sara's life had succeeded in bringing the insecurities about their relationship he'd long buried back to the surface. Jake's presence had served as a reminder of Grissom's own inadequacies.

As thoughts of whether he was a good enough man, husband and lover swirled in his mind, he savagely pushed to his feet hoping to banish those thoughts from his mind. He paced his cell as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

He couldn't deny that he'd been jealous of Jake from the moment they first met at the lab. Despite Sara's reassurances, Grissom's jealousy had morphed into genuine hate. When Jake had followed Sara to the diner, he witnessed how Sara not only displayed her fury as an independent woman, but also as a protective mother. Frightening Daniel ignited a distinctive wrath from Sara.

And it also ignited a distinct realization for Grissom; It was then he discovered that he was capable of killing a man.

Grissom returned to his bunk and procured a photo of Sara and Daniel, one of a few personal effects he'd been allowed to keep.

Taking it down, he sat on his bunk, with a heavy sigh, resting his head on one hand.

In the photo, Sara was turned facing him, a megawatt smile on her face as she held Daniel, who had been around five-months old at the time.

He stared at the photo of Sara and Daniel forlornly. The weight of the situation he was in pressed heavily down on him. Was this all he had to look forward to? A photo of the two people he held most dear to his heart? Watching his son grow only through weekly visits? He wanted so much more for his son. He blinked quickly, as a sudden feeling of hopelessness enveloped him. He missed them both so much.

Another rush of anger surged within him. In death Jake had succeeded in taking Sara from him, and he would never forgive him for that.

* * *

After breakfast call, Grissom made his way to the recreational room. The room wasn't all that crowded for the time of day, and Grissom was grateful.

A few inmates gave him a cursory glance then went back to their card game, dismissing his presence almost immediately. He breathed out a cautionary breath of air, as he ventured further into the room. So far, he'd managed to keep as low a presence as possible and none of the other prisoners had seemed to recognise him.

The TV was on, tuned to a news update and Grissom only gave it a fleeting glance, as he made his way over to the lone bookcase, and its paltry offering of well thumbed, dog-eared, torn and tatty excuses for books, and a few battered board games and jigsaws.

Grissom felt the temperature rapidly drop, as the TV volume was raised slightly as Paula Francis' voice filled the room as she reported on the investigation of Jake's murder.

Grissom's heart picked up a notch, as he became aware of the shift around him. He stood stock still, his back to the room, as the news report continued. He could feel the eyes of the other inmates fixed solidly in his direction. He felt a tendril of fear curl around his heart, his blood seemingly turned to ice, and he willed himself to remain calm.

" _If I stay calm,_ " he thought to himself, " _they won't make the connection. I can get through this._ "

He stayed where he was for five minutes after the news report had moved on to something else, before making his way back to his cell, unaware that four of the prisoners watched his retreat.

* * *

Late that afternoon, Grissom kept to himself as best he could in the prison exercise yard, and turned his face up to the hot desert sun, his eyes squinting against the glare, wishing that he'd been allowed his shades, although he was starting to feel thankful that the beard was gone.

He's thoughts drifted once more to Sara and their son, the fingers of his right hand absently seeking the ring that was no longer on his left hand. In ten days time it would be there first wedding anniversary, and frustration rose anew at the fact that they wouldn't be together to celebrate it. Once again, Grissom laid the blame squarely at Jake's feet.

Despite being outdoors, he felt as though the walls were closing in on him. He needed out of this place.

Absorbed in his thoughts, he didn't see four fellow prisoners approach him, until he was shoved roughly against the rough brickwork of the building, an arm pinned painfully behind his back, as he's head was pushed forcefully against the brick.

"Not so smug now, are you Grissom?" hissed a voice, close to his ear. "You're in our neighbourhood now, Killer. And we've got out own way for dealing with cops."

"I wasn't a cop," hissed Grissom, as he struggled to free himself from the strong grip that held him against the wall. "I investigated crime scenes."

The arms shoved him harder still against the rough brickwork, grazing Grissom's cheek in the process. The pressure of the arm on his neck increased, his arm pulled behind his back, making him grimace painfully.

"You worked with cops, and that makes you as bad as them, if not worse," reasoned the voice, followed but two swift punches to Grissom's kidney's.

Grissom stifled the hiss of pain as best he could, but was unable to mask the grimace of pain that contorted his face. He tried once more to shove back against the strong hands that held him, without success.

"You're on your own in here, Killer, remember that," stated the voice as the others warned him of the approaching guards. "We'll be seeing you around, _Gilbert."_

As he finished speaking, he delivered two more swift blows to Grissom's kidneys, before the punishing grip loosened and with a groan of pain, Grissom sank to his knees.

* * *

Shortly after lunch on Friday afternoon, Grissom was heading back towards his cell from the shower block, as a group of five prisoners headed towards him from the other direction.

He tried to keep an eye on all the men, but didn't react quickly enough when one prisoner broke away from the gang, and painfully slammed Grissom into the wall. The blow was enough to make his teeth rattle and bite his tongue and see stars as his head rapped against the wall.

"Fucking _bastard!"_ hissed a voice filled with fury, as a fist connected with his mouth.

Grissom blinked, slightly dazed as he tried to focus on the voice, but doubled over with a rush of air, as he was punched hard in the stomach. He would have sank to his knees if a pair of strong arms hadn't held him up, under the armpits.

His attacker struggled against the hands that also held him back, as the apparent leader of the gang approached the two men.

"What's the beef, bro?"

The younger man struggled harder, itching to have another go at Grissom. He growled with frustrated anger, when the hands held on tight.

"He's the one responsible for my father's death!" he growled, furiously. With a surge of energy, he pulled away from the restraining hands. The force of his fist connecting with Grissom's face, snapped his head to the right, and blood splattered on the floor.

The words partly cleared the fog clouding Grissom's mind. Blood dripped down his chin from his mouth as he turned to his his accuser. He instantly recognised him.

He'd only met Tait Darrow, once, the previous year as he stood trial for his part in Rory Dunbar's vendetta against him. He and his brother Corey, had helped Mike Garrett escape from prison. It had been their actions that had led to Garrett holding a then pregnant Sara hostage in an effort to lure Grissom out into the open. And it had worked.

"Tait, I'm not responsible for what..."

"Like _fuck_ you're not!" Tait furiously cut Grissom off, following another hard blow to Grissom's mid section. "You're as guilty as if you'd put the noose around his neck yourself!"

Grissom couldn't muffle the groan of pain or hide the grimace that marred his face as he was punched once more. His knees would have given out, if it wasn't for the arms that still held him upright.

Tait's eyes blazed with fury, fully prepared to punch Grissom again, when another idea came to him. He grabbed Grissom painfully by the hair, and bodily dragged him over to a cubicle.

Grissom struggled as he was forced to his knees, before he's head was unceremoniously shoved down into the toilet and then flushed.

It felt hours before Grissom was bodily pulled back, and he gasped as he struggled to get as much air back into his lungs as he could.

"My mother struggled to raise three kids on her own, because no one was prepared to help after your persecution of my father. Maybe that bastard son, and that bitch of a wife of yours should get a taste of what that's like, huh?"

Tait moved to shove Grissom's head back in the toilet, and he resisted as much as he could in the cramped space.

His struggles increased as the toilet was flushed once more and he was held under the churning water. His lungs started to burn as he struggled to hold his breath and free himself from his captors restraining hands.

He took a gasping breath, when he was pulled back up, the water stinging his eyes as it ran in rivulets down his face, soaking the orange of his prison scrubs. He's chest rose and fell rapidly as he fought for air, his eyes wide with fright.

"Whatever Rory told you..."

Tait grabbed Grissom's hair and yanked his head forward with a savage shake, making Grissom winch.

"Leave my uncle out of this, asshole! You tore my family apart!"

For a third a time, Grissom's head was yanked savagely forward and under water and the toilet flushed. Grissom's struggles grew frantic as it seemed that he wouldn't be pulled back up this time, and panic set in.

At the final second he was yanked back up and released, and he scurried backward, gasping like a stranded fish, as he sucked in whooping gulps of air.

Grissom flinched and tried to scurry further back, as Tait approached him once more.

This time, Tait drew back his foot, a split second, before he kicked Grissom hard, in the crotch.

Grissom's eyes grew wide and then slammed shut as the pain hit, his hands holding his throbbing groin protectively, as he curled into a fetal position. His face drained to a bloodless white, as dizziness made the room spin. Hot tears squeezed from the corners is his tightly scrunched eyes, as the pain moved up into his stomach.

His heart pounded in his chest, working into over drive. His head thumped in rhythm with his throbbing and battered balls.

The room began to spin as the nausea increased, and Grissom barely had time to turn his head as he vomited.


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: Lots of well deserved support for Grissom, in the last chapter. The poor guy, just can't catch a break. Hopefully, the second half of this chapter, will be a balm after the last tough chapter. As always, your comments and PM's are very much appreciated. I think you will possibly enjoy the 1st half of next week's chapter more than this one. But we'll see. Many, many thanks for my beta, JellybeanChiChi, for without her invaluable help, this story wouldn't be what it is._

* * *

CHAPTER 13

Once making his way slowly and painfully to his cell, over the following forty-eight hours Grissom tried his best to avoid drawing too much attention to himself. Despite his best efforts, he'd had several small "accidents." He'd been tripped twice in the dining area, which had resulted in him landing heavily on his left knee.

It was this, that caused him to limp slightly as he followed the guard down the corridor to an empty interview room, his hands handcuffed in front of him.

It was with some surprise when the guard opened the door, and Grissom was presented with the unexpected appearance of Wilbur Jacobsen.

Jacobsen, was a man in his sixties, with a shock of white hair and watery blue eyes. He'd been Grissom's lawyer for the last three years.

"Gil, I'm so sorry we meet under these circumstances," he said solemnly as he shook hands with Grissom, after the guard had unhand-cuffed him, and left them alone.

"When Hobson told me what had happened, I wanted to see you," Jacobsen continued, watching his client carefully, taking note of the fresh cuts and bruising on Grissom's face, and a healing graze on his cheek. "I know life in here is not easy for you," he finished sadly.

Grissom gave a little non-committal shrug. "It looks worse than it is. Considering that I'm responsible for inmates being here, there are bound to be a few ruffled feathers." He chose not to mention the beating and near drowning he'd faced two days prior.

"So, what Hobson says is correct; that you brawled with this Sullivan character?"

Grissom sighed heavily, glancing down at the floor.

"I'm not proud of that, Wilbur," replied Grissom, looking up again, but settling his gaze on the wall to the left of the lawyer. "He was hurting Sara. If I hadn't turned up when I did, I dread to think what he might have done to her."

"You genuinely believe he'd have seriously hurt her?" the lawyer asked raising an eyebrow.

Grissom nodded.

"There was...just something about him, Wilbur," Grissom mused, his tone thoughtful, as he tried to find the words to best describe how Jake Sullivan had made him feel. How he'd made Sara feel. "He insinuated that there was more going on between them, than just working a case together. He even followed Sara and I to lunch. He'd frightened Daniel, so when I saw him being rough with Sara…I saw red and lashed out. I may not be proud of it, but I don't regret it, either."

"I can't imagine how you or Sara must be feeling over this. I was shocked that Judge Carrigan would even consider this course of action. Although I can't help very much, I'll get Hobson to talk to the warden on the issue of your safety. I can also stop by and see Sara..."

Grissom shook his head.

"No. Don't tell Sara," he insisted. "She'll only worry if she knows that I've had a less than enthusiastic welcome. She doesn't need any added stress over this mess I caused."

Wilbur nodded his white head.

"As you wish, Gil. Although you know that she'll be upset, when she finds out that you kept this from her. At least, let me call by the house and at least reassure her that, you're...as well as can be expected? I'm sure she will be anxious for news and may want to visit.."

"No visiting," Grissom was emphatic on the issue. "I don't want her seeing me like this. This is not how I want her to remember me, whenever she looks at or thinks of me." Grissom paused, his gaze shifting to the floor, as he gathered his thoughts. His heart ached at the thought that settled in the front of his mind.

Coming to a decision, Grissom continued. "There is something you can do; ask Sara to check the set of drawers in the garage by the tarantula terrarium; she'll know which one. Tell her..." Grissom hesitated, closing his eyes briefly as he fought to regain control over his emotions. "...tell her, that I... wanted to make this year special enough to erase the horror we faced last year..." Grissom's voice faulted.

Jacobsen seemed to understand as he clasped Grissom on the shoulder, in a show of camaraderie.

"Of course I will, Gil. I'll also talk to Hobson when I return to the office. There is nothing I would like more than represent you myself, but I am locked into three cases that demand my attention."

"I understand, Wilbur."

"I trust Hobson. He's a good lawyer, but I do want to check on him from time to time," Wilbur said. "In the meantime, stay strong, my friend. I have every confidence that justice will prevail, and you will be cleared."

With that final assessment, he shook hands with Grissom once more, before calling for the guard that the interview was over.

* * *

On returning to the office building, Wilbur headed straight for Hobson's office. He entered the office, without knocking startling Hobson mid-phone call.

"...well aware of that, and I'm dealing with it. I have to go, Mr. Jacobsen's just… Yes, I'll call and let you know the arrangements."

He quickly ended the call and turned his attention to the senior partner.

"My ex-wife," he supplied in explanation of the interrupted phone call. "Trouble with our teenaged son."

"While I'm not disputing that family is important," Wilbur briefly acknowledged his junior partner's predicament. "We also have a duty of care to our clients. I've just come from visiting with Gil Grissom. You are aware, are you not, that he is being targeted by the other prisoners?"

He waited a beat, before continuing. "I can see from your surprised look, that you are not. I have to say that I'm a little disappointed in how you're handling his case, Hobson. I think, it would be in your best interest, if you were to have a word with the warden about the issue of our client's safety. Preferably before something worse, were to happen to him."

Wilbur gave a satisfied nod, before turning and promptly leaving the office, and leaving the younger man to start after him bleakly.

* * *

To say that Sara was having a bad week was an understatement.

She was still finding it hard to deal with Grissom's unexpected imprisonment. Without Grissom beside her she had difficulty sleeping and felt she was in a permanent state of exhaustion. Nor was she eating well, due to her constant worry over her husband. Just thinking about Grissom in that awful place made her nauseous and quickly running to the nearest bathroom.

Returning to work after the sentencing hadn't been easy; first having to run the media gauntlet, and their probing questions whenever she neared the building, and then having to face her colleagues. A handful had been supportive, including her supervisor, Karson Hess. Others, as she had expected, hadn't been as positive towards her since they believed Grissom was guilty.

Daniel was usually unsettled when daddy was away, but this time his anxiety and sadness seemed different. Sara knew she was stressing, and that Daniel couldn't help picking up on it. Only a few days after Grissom was imprisoned, Sara had been too slow in changing Daniel. He was still feeling out of sorts, as he wriggled fussily as she tried to change him. He managed to wriggle free and began his escape at a fast crawl.

"Come, on Cricket, I miss Daddy, too," Sara soothed softly as she caught her wandering son, and was promptly rewarded for her efforts by a warm jet of pee in her lap. Sara sighed and gently shook her head, a wry smirk gracing her face. It wasn't the first time, she'd been "christened" by Daniel, and she highly doubted it would be the last.

"While I applaud your aim, Cricket, you should remember I'm the one who feeds you so don't mess with mommy." She punctuated her point by blowing raspberries on his tummy. "Who's gonna mess with mommy? You?" Her playfulness was rewarded with soul-healing laughter and giggles.

After she finally managed to secure the diaper, she placed him in his playpen and quickly headed upstairs to change.

Getting caught in traffic left her with barely enough time to make it for Daniel's scheduled hearing check up – something her and Grissom had always done together. As with previous visits the appointment had gone well, with no indication of otosclerosis present. Her initial instinct, had been to reach for her cell to call Grissom. It was only after she'd pressed his assigned number that she realised he wouldn't be able to answer.

She'd spent the next ten minutes sitting in the car, trying to regain control over her fluctuating emotions. _Get a grip, Sidle,_ she said to herself. _You need sleep. You need focus. Your family needs you._

Finally regaining some semblance of control, Sara wiped at her reddened eyes. She could do this. She had her own resolve and the invaluable help of Betty, her mother-in-law. Sara always accepted Betty's help while Grissom was away teaching. Just to keep herself strong, Sara would tell herself his absence was no different.

"He is coming back home," she said aloud to herself.

With her composure once more restored, Sara checked on her son in the review mirror, and with a confirming nod meant more for herself, she made her way out of the parking lot, to drop off Daniel at day care.

* * *

It was the end of the week, and Sara sighed with the relief of finally being home, as she sank onto the floor beside Daniel, with a smile. The second Sara was settled, Hank, who had been returned a few days prior by Jim Brass, greeted her with subdued enthusiasm. He quickly searched the house for Grissom, and Sara could feel the pup's disappointment. He returned to her a few minutes later with his tail between his legs, his head low and his ears drooping. He was missing Grissom, too.

Daniel giggled with childish joy, as Betty played with him, a bright smile of her own on her face.

" _Thank you for picking Dan up from day care,"_ Sara signed. " _I didn't expect the court case to run over as it did. Then having to deal with the press..."_

Sara paused as Betty placed a hand on her arm, to stop her explanation, and shook her head, smiling tolerantly.

" _Sara, my dear,"_ she signed, shrugging her shoulders slightly. " _I've waited twenty-five years to become a grandmother, I don't mind helping when I can. Daniel is my only grandchild, and I love spending time with him. He's a treasure, just like his father."_

Sara offered a bleak smile of appreciation. " _Thank you,"_ Sara signed feeling genuinely touched by Betty's words. She would have said more, but the unexpected ringing of the doorbell, startled her. She quickly signed an explanation to Betty, before raising to her feet, and answering it.

Wilbur Jacobsen offered her a sympathetic smile as Sara opened the door.

Sara's face didn't register a smile back. "Oh my God. What happened? Is Gil OK?"

"Sara, don't jump to conclusions," Wilbur said with a smile. "I talked to Gil this morning and wanted to share things with you. May I come in?"

"Of course," Sara said, as she stepped aside to allow him inside. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"I'm fine, Sara."

"My son and mother-in-law are in the other room," she said, leading him to the kitchen area. She took a seat and he followed suit. "So, you've seen him? How is he holding up? Does he want me to visit?..."

Wilbur patted her hand which he'd taken into his own. "He was a little subdued, which is to be expected," he answered, deciding to err on the side of caution. "But other than that he seemed okay." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "However, he feels that it isn't the right time for you or anyone, to visit just now."

Those words made Sara visibly upset, enough for her to take a breath. "I would really like to see him."

"I understand, but this situation has been a massive shock to you both," he replied. "And this is a period of adjustment for you both. Give him a little time, Sara, and I'm sure, you and Daniel will be able to visit him very soon."

Wilbur patted her hand sympathetically again, as Sara tried to gather her spiralling emotions under control.

"OK. I guess I understand. But he should know … I need to … I miss him."

"And he misses you," the lawyer continued. "He asked me to tell you whether you could check the set of drawers near the tarantula terrarium in the garage. He said he wanted to make this year special enough to erase the horrors of last year."

The words might not have made sense to Wilbur, but they did to Sara, who nodded her head in the affirmative.


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: Many many thanks as always for your comments and PM's. They are all very much appreciated. I LOVE the first half of this chapter. I hope that you will too. You may need the tissues at the ready for the second half, however. Seems that Trouble, is never too far behind Grissom...As always, many thanks to JellybeanChiChi for the amazing beta._

* * *

CHAPTER 14

They continued with small talk for a few more minutes before Wilbur left, and Sara headed immediately towards the garage.

While she ignored the bugs Grissom had housed in the garage, Sara headed straight for Stevie's terrarium. She reached for the drawers that were directly below it. All but the third one were locked, and Sara rummaged around until she found the blue velvet box, a small white card with her name in Grissom's distinct writing sat on the top.

She quickly read the card, the words blurring as tears pricked her eyes, then with trembling fingers she opened the blue velvet box. Inside was a beautiful, gold-plated tennis bracelet, with heart-shaped, blue sapphires interspersed around its circumference.

Sara returned to the living room, still clutching the velvet box and card. She surreptitiously wiped at her eyes, not wanting Betty to see her so emotional.

On her return, she couldn't hold back the smile as she watched Daniel watching with fascination as Betty signed to him. She watched proudly as Daniel answered using baby sign. Betty praised him enthusiastically, making Daniel giggle.

Sensing her presence, Betty turned to her daughter-in-law, with a smile that faded, as she realised that Sara was trying hard not to cry.

" _Sara, dear, whatever is the matter?"_ Betty signed with an air of concern.

Sara sniffed, visibly pulling herself together.

" _That was_ _Gil's lawyer at the door,"_ Sara signed, and went on to explain what had been discussed. " _This is Gil's wedding anniversary gift to me,"_ she finished, holding up the bracelet, for Betty to see, who's eyes widened in delight.

" _It's beautiful, Sara."_

Sara nodded, touching a delicate sapphire heart, gently. " _It's very beautiful,"_ she agreed. " _Compared to this, the baseball season tickets for the Las Vegas 51's and a roller-coaster pass card I got for him doesn't see quite enough."_

Betty smiled proudly. _"He certainly wouldn't see it that way. Not when they're from you. You know him too well and you know he is going to love them."_

Sara bit back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. _"He should be here,"_ she signed, as she glanced over at Daniel, as he explored the living room.

" _He will be,"_ Betty affirmed.

" _I… I just don't know. I'm scared of how long he might be… away. He'll miss too much. Daniel's_ _first steps, his first words..."_

Sara's lip trembled dangerously, as the first tear slid down her cheek. " _He's never going to get this time back with Daniel. Its just..._ wrong _."_

Betty patted the space next to her on the sofa, and after a brief moment, Sara settled down next to her mother-in-law.

" _I prayed that he would find someone like you,"_ Betty signed, her expression both serious and sincere. " _The first time I saw you with him, I knew it would only be a matter of time. I don't recall ever seeing him so..._ vital _when he would mention you. And it was often. You are good for him, Sara. When Daniel is grown, you will understand that, that is all a mother wants for her son; for him to be happy. And you make him very happy, Sara. But you don't need me to tell you that. He loves everything about you, my dear. Don't be getting yourself all worked up over something you know he's going to love, because its come from you. Okay?"_

Sara nodded, sniffed and wiped at her eyes, realising that Betty was right. Suddenly feeling a little silly, Sara uttered a smile laugh. " _I've not been sleeping well, recently, and it's left me a little emotional. I'm sorry."_

Betty nodded in understanding. It had been a difficult week for all of them. Thinking of something positive to focus on, a sudden smile lit Betty's face.

" _May I ask you something that may seem a little personal?"_ When Sara nodded, Betty continued with a slight hesitation. _"How did you two meet? I can't remember a time when your name never came up, but how you met just never came up."_

A hint of pink coloured Sara's cheeks, at Betty's probing but unexpected question. Her gaze flickered to the floor, gathering her thoughts, before she returned her gaze shyly back to her mother-in-law. She'd found it strangely comforting to talking to Betty, knowing that she was struggling with the whole situation too. For once, Sara found didn't mind answering the question.

" _I was a student at a seminar he was teaching on a double murder in a garage. Some friends, thought they were doing me a favour by warning me that he….was rather dull as a speaker. I make my own judgment..."_

Sara's blush deepened as Betty smiled, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

" _He obviously made quite an impression on you. You definitely made an impression on him."_

Sara nodded, her mind drifting back to that first ever meeting. " _He took my breath away,"_ Sara signed truthfully. " _I asked him a thousand questions, trying to pick up the nerve to ask him to dinner. I never did quite manage it."_

" _What did happen?"_

" _He asked me for coffee, and I accepted. It felt like we talked for hours. After that first meeting, we bumped into each other too often to be coincidence. I remember having this feeling of someone watching me, which I thought was ridiculous at the time. The room was filled with people, and when I turned around, all I saw was Gil. Even then, I knew that there could never be anyone else for me. It just felt natural for us to seek each other out. When he was due to return to Vegas, it was his suggestion to swap contact details. We'd meet up at other forensic seminars, in his free time; sometimes attend a lecture together. We worked a case together when he was called in for a consult. It was shortly after that, that he started visiting San Francisco, when ever he could manage it. So when he phoned to say he needed my help, I couldn't say no. No was never an option when he asked me to stay."_

Betty smiled, and placed her hand supportively on Sara's arm, and squeezed gently.

" _I know he'd do anything to be with you and Daniel again,"_ Betty signed, when she released her hold on Sara's arm. " _Until he is out of that awful place, we have to stay strong for him, and support him, and each other. He_ will _be found innocent, Sara. Have faith."_

* * *

Grissom shuffled in the direction of his cell with a sense of disquiet. Since Wilbur's unexpected visit six days prior, Grissom had become aware of a sense of unease. It was as though the cell block was holding its breath. There was a tension in the air felt by prisoners and guards alike.

The latent hostility that was simmering just under the surface had Grissom on-edge. He'd not been attacked for almost a week, and that alone was enough reason to make him wary. The threat of violence that hung heavily in the air added fuel to the fire.

As if in response to the unsettled atmosphere, Grissom noticed that there seemed to be more guards present in the common area. It should have reassured him, but it did not. This... _suspension_ seemed to be just the calm before the storm.

Grissom hesitated, debating of if he should enter his cell, but guards would come around soon for routine count. This was his new reality, one he hoped would not last long, but there was no guarantee he would leave any time soon. As he stood outside his cell waiting for count to be done, all Grissom could think about was how he needed to get the hell out of here.

His mind drifted upon Sara. She would have found the bracelet he'd gotten her by now. Sorrow filled him as he wondered if she'd liked it. He'd been tempted three times, since Wilbur's visit, to ask to be allowed to call her. He even got in line to gain access to a phone, but once again he'd hesitated. He'd love nothing more than to talk to her … to see her again, but this was not the environment he wanted to conduct the rest of his marriage in, nor for his son to grow up.

His future was uncertain, but Sara and Daniel's weren't. He knew Sara was strong, and she would get through this. However the desire to see her remained.

He closed his eyes to quell his longing but also try to quash the dull headache he had suffered since his first beating. Tension migraines are the last thing he needed in prison, but they were too hard to avoid, it would seem.

 _I need to get out of here._

A feeling of being watched broke him out of his thoughts. A quick glance around his surroundings. His gaze settled on the hostile gaze of Tait Darrow and the group of five prisoners whose leader Grissom had learned was Loki DeVicariis. A shudder slid down Grissom's back as Tait's malice-filled gaze remained on him.

The group broke up as the guards moved to began the count. But Grissom remained unsettled as his fellow inmates moved to stand outside their respective cells.

Once the count was over, Grissom retreated to his cell. He'd just stepped inside when he stood rooted in his spot. His heart rate suddenly increased. His pulse raced in his ears, as as he looked upon his bunk.

There lay the photo of Sara and Daniel, ripped in half.

He walked stiffly to his bed, his rage building the longer he stared at the damaged photo. Tait's words came back to haunt him, and something snapped inside him. This wasn't just about damaging his property; it was a threat. It was one thing to threaten him; quite another to threaten his wife and son.

The last time he'd felt this way, he'd ridden roller coasters for hours, so much so it had worried Sara sick. In this place he was trapped with his growing rage, and there was no escape.

He turned and swiftly left his cell, his eyes darting around the common area until he found the one he was looking for.

Ignoring everyone in the common area Grissom strode purposely towards Tait Darrow.

"You son-of-a-bitch!" Grissom's voice was filled with rage, his eyes glaring with pure, unadulterated hatred. As he spoke, he delivered a solid blow to Tait's mid-section hard enough to knock the breath out of him and double him over. Grissom took the advantage, lashing out again. His fist connected solidly with the younger man's nose, and Grissom heard a satisfying crunch as his nose broke.

With a pain filled growl of rage, Tait retaliated, catching Grissom a solid hit to the chin. Within seconds they were locked in a brawl, that had the other inmates cheering them on.

Several guards quickly entered the common area, and immediately began dispersing the cheering and rowdy inmates, while others attempted to separate the warring duo. Still consumed with rage, and high with the rush of adrenaline, Grissom lashed out, catching a guard with a vicious right-hook.

Grissom was forced to his knees, then all fours, then flat on his stomach. He struggled violently as the two guards tried to handcuff his hands behind his back, still too pissed off to fully co-operate. One knelt on Grissom's head, in restraint, as Grissom bellowed in fury, as more guards joined the desperate struggle. One guard secured his legs, crossing his feet at the ankles, and holding them securely.

Eventually, with his hands handcuffed behind his back, he was roughly hauled to his feet, a guard on either side of him, each gripping his upper arms in a painful grasp as he was marched from the common area back to his cell.

Once back in his cell, one guard stayed with him, while the second, searched his cell, tossing what belongings he had on the floor. Grissom remained silent and sullen, as the guard ransacked his cell, the adrenaline of the fight, now leaving him feeling drained, though the fury and rage still remained.

The guard paused in his searching as he flicked through a book, and then turned to face Grissom, who tensed as the guard's grip on his upper arm increased. The searching guard held up a small bag of drugs that had been hidden between the pages of the book.

"It seems that the charges against you are mounting up, Grissom," stated the guard. "You're already facing multiple charges for fighting, and hitting a member of staff."

"That isn't mine," Grissom responded.

The guard snorted contemptuously; it was something he heard a lot in the course of his duty. "That's what you all say," he stated, as he carried on searching Grissom's cell.

He moved over to the bunk and began a through search of the sleeping area. When he paused this time, he whistled through his teeth, a satisfying smile on his face. He tutted and shock his head as he carefully held up a toothbrush that was sharpened to a point.

"It really isn't turning out to be your day, is it Grissom?"

His head and heart pounding, Grissom could feel his rage rising once more, and without thinking took a step forward. He was roughly pulled back, his face pressed against the wall as he was shoved against it.

"That has nothing to do with me!" Grissom vehemently denied, as he struggled against the guard that was restraining him. "I've been in the library for most of the day..."

The guard strode over to him, after bagging the evidence against Grissom.

"I'm not really interested in your excuses. In fact I don't give a shit who you were on the outside Grissom. In here you're just like every other lying sack of shit that says he's innocent. The warden is going to be very interested in what I have to show him. Now get moving!"

Grissom was roughly turned around and shoved outside of his cell. The two guards flanking him, as they escorted him to the warden's office.

* * *

In their townhome, Sara leaned back in the office chair of their small home office. While Daniel was down for his afternoon nap, Sara had taken advantage to do the mundane task of paying bills and managing the checkbook.

The oppressive silence of the house, pressed down on her. Although it had been a few weeks, since Grissom's imprisonment, and she had been forced to accept this new reality, the heavy silence that now filled a once happy home, was harder to accept.

Hank, as if sensing her despondency, whined and shuffled closer to her, burying his nose into her stomach, his tail thumped the floor, half-heartedly. It was clear that he shared her contemplative mood.

Sara smiled bleakly, scratching the dog affectionately behind his ears, drawing a little comfort as Hank buried his nose a little further into her stomach.

Sighing deeply, her gaze settled on the photo Grissom kept on his desk, of the two them on their wedding day. Their smiles were radiant and beaming. They'd been happy with their thoughts only on each other and the anticipation of the birth of their first child. There were no clues of the horrors to be inflicted upon them by Mike Garrett only a few hours after the photograph had been taken.

Sara thought she could understand Gil's reasons he didn't want to see her. She figured he believed even after he was released Grissom would prefer not to have their life scarred by memories of his time in prison. But that still didn't explain why he hadn't called her on their wedding anniversary. In fact, it didn't explain why he couldn't call at all. Surely he knew, surely he understood, that she believed in his innocence? It hurt her deeply, to think that he might think she thought him guilty.

With another deep sigh, she once more dialed the number of Grissom's lawyer, Hobson Nash, expecting it to ring to voice mail as it had the last three times she'd called him in as many hours. She was surprised, when the call was answered.

They chatted for a few minutes, before Sara got down to the reason of her call.

"I think I understand his reasonings about why he doesn't want to see me, but why can't he at least call?"

"Sara, I can't really answer that for him. But it's possible that he may not have earned enough telephone privileges, I don't know. There could be any number of reasons."

"Then could you ask him, when you next see him? I just….I need to talk to him..."

"Of course," was Hobson's answer, but to Sara he sounded distracted. It was confirmed when he added, "Look, I know you're worried Sara, but these things can take time. I'll pass on your message, but I really must go….I'm very busy."

Sara ended the call feeling like she'd gotten nowhere fast, and left with more questions than answers. She could only hope that Hobson would pass on her message and Gil would call.


	16. Chapter 16

CHAPTER 15

After two weeks of disciplinary segregation, Grissom was ready to go to his regular cell. More commonly referred to as "the hole," Grissom paced the cell as he impatiently waited for the guard to release him. He had been put in isolation as punishment for his fight with Tait and possession of contraband. The punishment had given him plenty of time to heal and to think.

He'd quickly learned that both guards and the warden weren't prepared to listen; to them he was either just another inmate or an ex-law enforcement official gone rogue. Those thoughts only made his ever-steady headache feel worse. It was as if he awoke with migraines and they never ceased.

It was time to take matters into his own hands – just has he had with Jake. Threatening Sara and their son, no matter how veiled that threat might have been, had pushed him to his limit.

* * *

Once back in the familiarity of his cell, some of Grissom's impatience eased. He busied himself with the task of straightening up the confined space, finding gratification in not finding any hidden contraband that might have found its way into his cell during his absence.

When he found the torn photo under the tossed mattress, he paused. He gazed at it for a good five minutes, before placing the two halves inside his pillowcase for safe keeping.

After the dinner call, Grissom paused to talk to a guard, simply requesting to see his lawyer. It was the same request he had made when he was escorted out of isolation. Making his way to his cell, he could still feel nervous anticipation in the air, and he wanted to keep as low a profile has he could.

Despite the tension in the air, there were fewer guards in the common area then there had been before his segregation. Nevertheless, Grissom remained on the alert, as he eyed the common area, uneasily. Tait Darrow and Loki DeVicariis were nowhere in sight, and it would soon be time for the last count before 10 p.m. lights out. Only then would they be allowed to remain in their cells.

With a sense of dismay Tait and Loki returned from the direction of the dining hall, with a third inmate Grissom wasn't too familiar with. They exchanged a few words, with the third inmate nodding his head vigorously at whatever Loki had said, before quickly separating and heading towards their cells.

* * *

A half hour later, Grissom was stretched out on his bunk and reading a book, when Loki and four others, including Tait, entered his cell. One, half closed his cell door, stationing himself as a lookout.

Grissom had sat up and put his book aside. But before he was able to push to his feet, a gang member savagely hauled Grissom to his feet, pinning both his arms behind his back and looping his other arm around Grissom's neck, holding him in a choke hold.

Grissom struggled and the arm around his throat tightened, restricting his air supply.

Loki, who initiated the attack with just a nod of his head, grinned with menacing eyes.

"The guards think they run this wing," he said conversationally. "But they don't; _I_ do. Most of the time nothing happens around here unless its on my say so. Sometimes, someone might take action on their own and that upsets the natural order of things. Like my friend here." Loki titled his head in Tait's direction. "Then I have a decision to make. I'm a reasonable guy; if there's a legitimate reason, I can be persuaded to let it pass. But there are exceptions to every rule, as you well know.

"So you see, your show of defiance can't go unpunished. Young Tait here as a grievance to settle, and I have a reputation to uphold. Karma can be a bitch like that."

Loki settled himself comfortably on Grissom's bunk and looked levelly at Grissom, before turning his gaze to Tait, and give the smallest of nods.

Tait grinned, widely, as his fist slammed hard into Grissom's midsection, knocking the breath out of him. He winced in pain, but had little time to recover as a fist slammed into his face, and blood burst from his mouth.

The arms holding him up, tightened around his upper arms, as blow after blow rained down on Grissom, as Tait was joined by the others in tight circle.

Grissom sagged limply between two men, barely conscious, as Tait delivered another blow to his already bloody and battered face. Blood oozed from his mouth and nose, splattering the front of his prison scrubs and trousers.

Tait was about to deliver another blow, when Loki simply stated, "Enough."

The retribution was swift and barely took five minutes. But it felt like a lifetime to Grissom. He slumped to the floor as the two men released him, and with a look from Loki, they quickly fled from the cell.

With a grunt of pain, Grissom tried to curl into a fetal position, his whole body a mass of pain. His only relief, that the punishing blows were finally over. Even that small movement was enough for pain to lance through his body, and the world blacked out.

* * *

Grissom slowly became aware of sounds around him as he struggled for consciousness. There was a hint of antiseptic in the air. He shifted position, unable to hide the groan as pained lanced through his body. His head throbbed to a beat of its own. He felt like he'd been slammed with a sledgehammer.

"Inmate Grissom," stated a male voice somewhere to his left. "If you can hear me, tell me how you are feeling?"

Inmate. Grissom wished he was awakening to a bad dream, but that word brutally battered his subconscious as he reminded him this was no dream. He risked opening one eye before hastily closing it again. The bright light pierced into his brain like a knife. He swallowed reflexively and fought the bile that settled in his stomach.

"...Tired… In pain," Grissom croaked instead, his voice sounding hoarse even to his own ears.

"Well, you took a pounding so that's expected," the doctor said. "If the guards hadn't found you when they did, it could have been a lot more serious."

"How long …"

The medic waited for Grissom to finish his sentence, but instead the battered man closed his eyes and slowly opened them again.

"You've been out for two days. There's cuts and bruises to your face and upper torso, so you're going to be sore and stiff for a few more days. I've recommended you stay in the infirmary for five more days. We've been asked to inform your lawyer when you were fully conscious."

"Can … I.. see him?"

"I'd recommend at least another twenty-four hours."

"I asked… before…"

Again, drowsiness started to overtake Grissom who tried to fight it.

"The warden does have notes of a request to see your attorney before landing yourself in here. But how good is it to see your lawyer today if you can't stay awake?"

Grissom tried to nod at the doctor who moved away from the bed. Drowsiness crept over him, and he gave into it gladly, to escape the pain that consumed him.

* * *

A day later, Hobson Nash made his way through the different security levels to get to the infirmary. Because he was meeting with a client, he asked if he could meet in a secure room so they could speak without breaking attorney/client privilege. The infirmary had a small exam room that would have to do, so Hobson was escorted there and asked to wait for a guard to bring Grissom.

As the door opened, Hobson stood up to greet his client but became face-to-face with a Grissom he almost couldn't recognize. The attorney was shocked at the beating his client received.

Grissom could only take small steps because of the shackles on his legs. Thankfully he was without arm restraints, which might have messed with the IV port on his hand.

Before the guard left, Hobson pointed to the shackles and asked, "Are those necessary?"

"Warden's orders," the guard said before leaving the room and closing the door.

Hobson approached Grissom and helped him into a seat. "My God. They really gave you a beating. How… bad is it?"

Grissom let out a pained, sarcastic chuckle. "It isn't good."

"Do you remember anything about the attack?"

Grissom shook his head slightly. "It's still blurry. Nothing I can make much sense of."

Hobson nodded in understanding. "I can imagine."

"Hobson, what the hell is going on with my case? I can't stay in here."

"I know it's difficult."

"Difficult!" Grissom said raising his voice. "What an understatement."

Hobson tried to calm his client by using an even voice. "Remember what we talked about before you went into prison. Stay under the radar. You've got to be as invisible as possible…"

"They found me," Grissom said with resonance. "I didn't ask for them to beat the shit out of me."

"I know that but what about that stint you did in isolation?" The question made Grissom bite his lip. He knew that was his fault. "That will not help your case, Grissom, not one bit. If you are seen as a troubled prisoner no one will be on your side. Look at you now? You got beaten up by a gang of men and you're meeting your lawyer in shackles."

The two sat in silence for a long moment. Grissom swiped his hand across his forehead.

"You in pain?"

"It's all relative at this point," Grissom said before taking a deep breath and speaking. He worked not to let his voice crack. "These men are going to kill me. I am not going to die in here, so being invisible is more difficult than we anticipated."

"OK. Well… it's becoming quite clear that from the severity of this attack your safety is compromised," Hobson said. "This is not the first of such incidents, and I spoke with the warden about this after you told Mr. Jacobson what happened to you in the shower area. Things have escalated again and I think it's time we insist you be transferred to another facility. One where you can be more anonymous. Does that sound agreeable?"

"Yes."

"A transfer might take a few days, a week, you know how things are in here. Can you stay under the radar until then?"

Grissom sighed. _This guy doesn't get it,_ he thought. _It's not my decision whether I stay under the radar._ "Yeah. I will try, Hobson. Just don't leave me here too long."

"As soon as possible. You have my word," Hobson said. "And don't worry. I'll let Sara know when the transfer will occur…"

"No," Grissom said forcibly. "I don't want her to know anything about this. She has enough to cope with, without burdening her with this."

"Grissom, she's been calling my office. I think she gets why you don't want to see her, but she wants to know why you can't call."

"Can't you hold off telling her about the transfer until I've been settled a few days in the new facility?" Grissom asked. "Once I'm there, you can put money in my account and I can use it to call her. Just… just hold her off a little longer."

"If that is what you prefer," answered Hobson, not sure he understood his client's reasoning, but granting it nonetheless. "Right now, guaranteeing your safety is the important issue."

Grissom winced as he shifted in his chair. Hobson noticed and figured it might be time his client get back to a bed. "Is there anything else you need?"

"I need to get the hell out of here."

Hobson wanted to offer a comforting smile, but couldn't. Instead he rose to his feet and knocked on the door to alert the guard to get the prisoner. "I'm going to concentrate on the transfer and, I promise you, I'll make sure that this matter is dealt with swiftly."

* * *

Hobson was as good as his word, and less than a week later, Grissom was escorted by three guards to the waiting prison transport bus. Although the infirmary listed him as fit to travel, he was still feeling pain and discomfort from the beating.

The hot Nevada sun blazed as Grissom clutched the paper sack containing his meagre belongings. He had to look forward to a six hour drive to the Northern Nevada Correctional Center, near Carson City and Lake Tahoe, and Grissom was already feeling the effects of the heat.

Grissom worked to wipe a few beads of sweat off his face with his cuffed hands. He took a deep breath as he boarded the bus behind two other prisoners from his prison. A guard stood behind him and pushed him to get on the bus, when Grissom took a moment of hesitation.

The bus was empty, save the driver. The guard took the three prisoners behind a caged partition that separated them from where the driver and any guards sat.

After Grissom sat down, his guard immediately shackled one foot to the seat. While the other prisoners were tended to, Grissom leaned his head, wearily against the window. He felt a brief wave of relief to be finally out of High Desert State Prison, but he knew today would be a long drive through the desert with intermediate stops.

The first stop to Southern Desert Correctional was not a long drive at all. The prisoners sat in wait as the guard exited the bus to retrieve a new batch of prisoners. But nothing happens immediately in a prison setting, and the trio sat in wait for more than an hour. The heat became oppressive and Grissom could feel sweat bead down his back and legs.

Another guard joined the one from Grissom's prison as two more prisoners were escorted on the bus. Grissom had promised both himself and his lawyer he would follow the "fly under the radar" philosophy, so Grissom put his head down low not wanting to make any eye contact with anyone — guard or prisoner.

He turned his gaze back out the window as the two prisoners were situated somewhere behind him and finally he felt the bus put into drive and pull back onto the highway.

After about an hour, the generic desert landscape combined with the motion of the bus had succeeded in lulling Grissom to the edge of sleep. But the bumpy ride continually jostled him awake. He craned his neck back and forth and wondered how many more stops at other prisons the bus would make.

He continued to look out the window and a feeling of isolation hit him. He felt as if he was alone on a long sojourn he didn't want to take. Nausea overcame his stomach. Yet, he also felt the tension of anticipation. He looked at the window and noticed they had passed Desert Camp Rock. He recalled investigating a number of crime scenes there over the course of his career.

Taking his gaze away from the window, he wished he could pinpoint the source of the tension. But before he could mentally investigate that feeling, the bus jarred violently and Grissom found himself shrouded in black.


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N: Thank you for all the comments for last week's chapter. Things are starting to move along with the following chapters. I can't take all the credit for this chapter, as well as doing an awesome job as beta, Jellybean also wrote some of this chapter. This story certainly would be much more difficult, without her help._

* * *

CHAPTER 16

"Nevada Southern, this is Prisoner Transport Vehicle 4563. Do you copy? Over."

The radio transmitter at Nevada Southern Detention Center, located in Pahrump barked to life with a static-filled message, but was not readily heard by the guard on duty.

"Nevada Southern, this is Prisoner Transport Vehicle 4563. Do you copy? Over."

Finally, the guard on duty picked up the transponder to reply to the transmission. "We hear you bus. This is guard on staff at Nevada Southern. Can you give me your 20? Over."

"Well, presently, off our time schedule. We're having some issues with the vehicle. We stopped to change a flat and check on an engine issue. Over."

The guard retrieved his prisoner manifest to look over the schedule for the transport. "PTV, do you need assistance on your transport? We can schedule another bus to meet you. Give me your 20. Over."

"We should be fine if we look things over. We prefer to get this bucket back on the road rather than wait for another transport. Over."

The response from the transport didn't phase the guard. He wouldn't want to wait for a transport either. But he still wanted to know the location of the vehicle, a question asked twice and still not answered. "10-4, transport. Give me your 20 so I can mark location coordinates and let my boss know a better timeline for the pickup. Over."

"Currently 50 plus miles from Nye County Correctional on I-95, where we drop off a guard, before heading back to you in Pahrump. Over."

The guard looked at his manifest for record of the transport going to Nye. He hadn't known about that although it definitely changed the timetable of when the transport would arrive in Pahrump.

But having an additional stop was not unusual. At the last minute, wardens might make requests of transfers at the last minute. He had come on duty not too long ago and it is possible the guard on shift before him was alerted but never wrote down the information.

So, the guard did some quick math in his head. They still had a good 120 miles before they could make it to the prison, which made for a two to three hour drive, depending on the life of the transport, the time to do a tire repair and the drop off of the guard. "10-4 transport. Will mark down your coordinates and await news. Appreciate another update in an hour or two. Over."

"10-4, Nevada Southern. Will talk in 60 to 120. Over."

* * *

Some six hours later, 12 prisoners of Nevada Southern Detention Center were getting antsy. The dozen inmates had been waiting in a holding cell area for more than three hours, and the area was not conducive for 12 grown men to twiddle their thumbs.

The guards on duty could not care less about the restless inmates, who were scolded if they got too loud. But they had realized the transport they awaited was too late for comfort. It was time to called the dispatch office to see what was going on.

The same guard who took the radio transmission from hours before was getting ready to leave. He had received a second transmission from the transport two hours after he first heard from them. They were 20 miles from Nye and would be heading to Pahrump ASAP. The transport once again declined a relief transport vehicle to meet them. He figured now was the time to contact the transport.

"Transport 4563, this is Nevada Southern Detention Center. Do you copy? Over."

Nothing but static.

The guard tried again. "Transport 4563, this is Nevada Southern Detention Center. Do you copy? Over."

Still nothing.

He switched to other channels to no avail. No dispatched messages were stated to be received.

This wasn't good.

Although there was only 20 minutes left on his shift, the guard knew he had to make a call he didn't want to make. "Give me the warden's office."

* * *

Because the prison guard from Nevada Southern Detention Center in Pahrump lost contact with the Prisoner Transport Vehicle when it was supposed to be near Nye Correctional, the Nye County Sheriff's Office in Beatty, Nevada, did preliminary investigation. Members searched a long stretch of Highway 95 for any signs of wreckage of the prison transport vehicle within the Amargosa Valley. But they found nothing.

With the vehicle missing for some seven hours, the Nye Sheriff's office reached out to Clark County, which dispatched a team of day shift CSIs and almost two dozen cadets to conduct further investigation along the stretch of Highway NV116 that leads out of the two point of origin prisons.

Knowing this would be a high-profile investigation, day shift supervisor Karson Hess led the CSIs on site. He sighed in frustration as he gazed into the familiar, and never never-ending distance of the isolated crime scene. For as far as the eye could see was a flat expanse of sandy soil, punctuated with rock mounds and hills. White bursage, creosote bushes and some Joshua trees dotted the landscape.

Like the investigators in Beatty, the CSIs had made no progress either.

There had been over sixty-two miles of isolated highway to cover, and they had nothing to show for it. There were skid marks, but they were clearly old, and possibly made from any number of vehicles avoiding some of the larger indigenous wildlife that populated the area. It was not unusual for desert big horn sheep or coyotes to venture too close to the road.

But just how did a bus with a driver, two guards and a total of four prisoners from two prisons disappear?

* * *

Kahlil glanced at his day shift coworker with more than a hint of concern in his eyes. As Sara stirred the cold remains of her lunch around her plate, it became evident to Kahlil that she'd not eaten much, if anything at all. Slender to begin with, she appeared to have lost weight, she couldn't really afford to lose, over the weeks, since Grissom's incarceration.

They'd been working on a suspected hit-and-run for the last few hours, and had little evidence to show for their efforts. He was still trying to figure out, how he'd managed to convince her to take a break.

"Not hungry?" Kahlil asked. "You want me to get you something different?"

Giving up all pretense of eating, Sara put down her fork, and took a sip of the mango smoothie she'd ordered instead of her usual tea. "No. Thank you, though. That's sweet of you to offer."

"You should eat more or perhaps, drink more of those smoothies."

She smiled and took a sip, savoring the taste. "Lately these things are the only thing that have helped with my stomach. I get…"

Sara stopped short of explaining how she starts feeling nauseous whenever she thinks of her husband. But she didn't need to because her partner seemed to understand. A soft-spoken man, he never overstepped or overshared, but he always seemed compassionate.

"I don't know how you do it Sara. If you ever need to talk about how you are feeling, don't shy away."

"Sometimes it's easier just to move forward."

Kahlil nodded his head. He was not a man who pushed. "That is true. You did a great job today."

She smiled. "Back atcha." She took another sip of her smoothie grateful the subject was dropped. "You heard from anyone else on shift today? I feel like we've abandoned them."

"Oh, I got a text earlier. Everyone else got called on a case in the desert. You didn't get that text?"

Sara checked her phone. But saw no new texts. Not from her supervisor. Not from anyone. She'd still not heard from Grissom, since she'd last called his lawyer, Hobson Nash, and she was beginning to think that he might not be passing on her messages.

"I … didn't get it."

"Well, no worries," Kahlil said. "We were told to stay on our case. I suppose we are the fortunate ones not having to work in the late afternoon sun."

He raised his glass of water in a gesture of a toast. Sara reciprocated as she clinked her Styrofoam cup against his glass. "To being lucky."

"Yes. That is something you could use," Kahlil said before resuming his meal.

As her present partner ate, Sara's thoughts wandered to her former teammates. She'd tried asking the team on how the investigation on Grissom's case was going, but she knew as well as they did, that they couldn't talk about an active case. Still, she hadn't heard anything from anyone in weeks. Not even to check up on her or her well being. She was beginning to feel isolated from her friends as the weeks passed.

* * *

Back in his office Karson leaned back in his chair, and let out a sigh. He was tense, the consequences of a long shift, that showed no signs of ending soon. He stared at the information that he'd been given from the wardens at both prisons. Of the four prisoner names on the sheet, only one stood out.

The suspicion that had been tumbling through his mind, was beginning to look like a certainty. He didn't know the ex-grave supervisor well, but he didn't cherish thinking the man could be involved in such ill circumstances.

Then there was Sara. Fortunately, she was on call with another case when Hess got the PTV call out. Karson knew she had to be as far away from the situation as possible, but he still felt like he needed input from someone who knew Grissom well.

Which is why hours after his own shift and hours before the grave shift was to start, Karson heard a knock on the door from Nick Stokes.

"Hey, Stokes. Thanks for coming in," Karson said as he rose from his chair. "Close the door behind you and have a seat."

Nick immediately noticed the various folders, papers and maps littering Karson's desk. "Looks like you got a helluva case going on. You said you might need my help?"

"Yeah, your help and frankly, what I'm working on relates to a case you worked on grave," Karson said. "A prison transport vehicle is missing following an early morning transport between several prisons. Karen spoke to the warden office's at the individual prisons where pick-ups were made, and requested info on the prisoners that were being transported. Of the four prisoners, only one is the highest profile on the call sheet — Gil Grissom."

He handed a file folder full of printouts to Nick. "Where was the last vantage point of the transport?" Nick asked.

"There's no sign of wreckage anywhere along the route they took. Nothing."

"What?" Nick asked incredulously. "There has to be something. A bus with seven people on board just doesn't vanish without trace."

"I agree," Karson said. "Unless it was a jail break."

Nick was silent for several minutes as he took on board everything the CSI supervisor had told him. As he glanced over the printout, his gaze focused on Grissom's name. At first he had not believed for a minute that Grissom was guilty of Jake's murder. But as he conducted the investigation and looked at the evidence, his mind changed. He had to come to terms that the man he had admired committed murder.

"What do you think, Stokes?" Karson said, breaking Nick out of his own thoughts. "I didn't know Grissom that well and never would have pegged him to kill someone…"

"You and me both," Nick said. "And if something happened to the bus and it broke down, maybe he escaped… but this is the middle of nowhere."

"Exactly," Karson said. "We would have found something — the bus or at least a piece of it. And there aren't many places for him to hide out there. I know Nye had a chopper in the air that found no signs of life. Hell, we would have found a body, if anything."

"You're thinking this was a coordinated jail break?"

Karson shrugged. "It's not out of the realm of possibilities. Karen seems to be the most vocal about that theory and as she looked into the backgrounds of the prisoners, she couldn't find ties to anyone, but it would seem Grissom would have the most know-how of the ins and outs of law enforcement to possibly pull this off," Karson explained at he leaned back in the chair. "But, even as those words come out of my mouth, I find a hard time believing it."

"Yeah," Nick said solemnly. "But still … there is something about it that makes sense."

"It only makes sense if he had help. There is no way any prisoner could do this solo."

Nick felt a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Has anyone contacted Sara about all this? Does she know about the bus and that Grissom was on it?"

"I need to find that out from the sheriff…" Karson's statement was interrupted by his phone ringing. "Hess. … Yes sir. I was actually just sitting down with Nick Stokes discussing some theories. … You heard from whom? … I find that unusual since Karen is not the lead on the case. … Yes, that is one theory but this investigation is nowhere near over. Any theory at this point is speculation. We need something concrete. We need to find that van. … No, I do understand that. … Sir, I would appreciate it if I could be there as well. … Yes. … OK. Thank you, Sheriff."

Karson stood up, letting Nick know their brainstorming session was over, for now. "To answer your question, if Sara doesn't know by now, she's going to find out. Ecklie's on his way to pick me up to go to Sara's."

Nick followed Karson out the door, and as the two made their way in two different directions, Nick asked quickly. "Is it just you two?"

Karson turned around solemnly. "No."


	18. Chapter 18

_A/N Thanks to JellybeanChichi for the awesome beta on this chapter. And, many thanks for all your comments._

* * *

CHAPTER 17

With Daniel poised on her hip, Sara went to the door and looked through the peephole. She felt her stomach drop. How she hoped that her visitors might have finally found evidence to prove Grissom's innocence.

When she opened her door, she saw Karson, her supervisor, and Ecklie, and two detectives — Matty Foster and Tristan Bowden. That duo's presence did not make Sara comfortable.

"Karson, Ecklie. What's going on? Has something happened to Gil?"

"Interesting question, _Mrs_. Grissom," Matty stated.

His tone caused Sara to narrow her eyes. She didn't like his accusatory tone or the way he had stressed the "Mrs." in Mrs. Grissom.

"I disagree. I think it's a legitimate question. Anything could happen while he's in jail – especially if any of the other prisoners recognize him," Sara said.

"When was the last time you spoke to, or saw your husband?" Matty continued, ignoring Sara's response.

If looks could kill, then Sara's look would have killed Matty on the spot. "Not since his bail hearing."

When Matty gave a disbelieving snort, Sara glanced between the four men. "What's going on? Why all the questions about Gil?" she demanded.

"Sara, can we sit down?" Karson asked.

"That's a good idea, Sara," Ecklie said, trying to counter Matty's caustic nature. He put a supportive arm around Sara and tried to lead her to the living room area. "We need to talk, but it's important you feel comfortable. Do you want to put Daniel down in his room or…"

"I rather he be with me," Sara said as she sat on the puffy chair where Grissom usually sat with Daniel.

Ecklie and Karson sat across from Sara on a couch, while Matty stood with his arms crossed and the other detective sat upon the couch arm.

"There's evidence to suggest that while Grissom was being transferred to another prison, he and the other prisoners, staged a jail break," Ecklie volunteered. "There's been no contact with the transport vehicle for several hours. All efforts to re-contact the bus have been unsuccessful."

"Transported to another prison?" Sara said in complete surprise. "Why was he being transported? Why didn't anyone tell me? Did his lawyer know?"

Tristan, the detective on the couch arm, was watching Sara carefully. "You didn't know about your husband being transferred?"

"No. I didn't. And I should have been told," Sara said, her anger bleeding with her anxiety and fear. "But what do you mean you can't find the bus? What happened?"

"We have not found any evidence of the vehicle," Karson said. "All we know for sure is contact was lost and hasn't been reestablished."

"Well if you've found no evidence, it doesn't point directly to an escape," Sara argued with a shake of her head. "The radio could be out of range, or even broken."

"It's been almost 12 hours, Sara, for a transport that should have taken 2 to 3 hours at the most," Karson said. "We have searched on two highways by foot and air and haven't found anything."

"Listen to me. Gil did not kill Jake, and he would not try to escape custody," Sara said. "Suppose there was an accident, and he's hurt. You are all are assuming he escaped, instead of treating him like a missing person."

"Sara, there's no evidence of an accident, or anyone being injured," Ecklie stated.

"Then what proof..."

"The Transport never arrived at the next pick up point. Somewhere between Southern Desert Correctional Centre, and Nevada Southern Detention Centre, they disappeared. Seven people, including your husband, don't just vanish," Matty jumped in, growing bored with the exchange.

"I'm sorry, Sara, but under the circumstance, I have no choice but place you on administrative leave, effective immediately," Ecklie commented with a slight wince, recalling too vividly doing the same thing the year before, when he'd learned of Grissom and Sara's relationship, and pregnancy.

Sara held Daniel tighter. Her voice was low and sad. "You're suspending me, because you think he'll try and contact me." She stood up with Daniel. "Excuse me."

"Of course, Sara," Ecklie said.

The four men watched Sara leave the room, Matty getting ready to follow her. But Karson stood up to block his path. "Give her a second."

"She could be contacting him right now."

"With members of law enforcement right here? Are you kidding?"

Matty laughed. "Make sure you get the phone records, Mr. CSI. Because…"

The detective cut himself off as Sara came back into the room. She didn't have Daniel but had other items. Having been through the procedure before, she presented her weapon, ID and badge to Karson.

"Thank you, Sara," Karson said, knowing it was time to go.

"I've answered your questions. Daniel is in the kitchen in his high chair. I need to feed him, and I need for you all to leave."

While Ecklie and Karson made their way out the door and to the car, Tristan and Matty held back.

"We might have more questions, Mrs. Grissom," Tristan said, offering his card to Sara. "And if you hear from your husband…"

Sara snatched the card. "Goodbye detectives."

"You know," Matty started, "by the time Grissom gets out of prison, your son will be graduating college. He doesn't deserve your loyalty, he's certainly offered you none. Here you are raising your son on your own. It's time you faced the truth."

"You need to leave," Sara said, standing firm. "I'm will not take any part in this unjust persecution of my husband."

"You'll be saying a different tune when we catch him."

"I know Gil. He didn't kill anyone and he didn't escape from prison," Sara said. "And you have no idea what you're talking about because you know nothing about him."

"I know all I need to know about him," Matty responded. "He was in the park at the time of Jake's death, and he has no alibi other than walking the dog. There's blood evidence, on both his clothing and Jake's. The boots are a match to the bruising on Jake's body. Must I go on? If he didn't escape when the opportunity arose, then where is he, Mrs. Grissom? He's a wanted felon, and I can assure you, we'll find him. When that happens, it'll be a very long time, before he'll be a free man. Think of all the years he's going to miss, watching his son grow up. What he's already missed."

Matty knew he'd struck a chord, when Sara glanced toward the direction of Daniel, before returning her furious glare in his direction.

"He's ruined his life, Mrs. Grissom, and you're on suspension because of him. Don't let him ruin your life or our job, or that little's boy life, more than he has already," Matty offered as parting words of wisdom.

Sara shut the door firmly behind the detective, and turning around stood with her back leaning against the door, as tears sparkled in her dark eyes.

* * *

For the next hour, Sara tried to focus on things in her immediate control and responsibility. She fed Daniel and Hank. Then she put Daniel to play contently in his playpen as he watched his favorite DVD as it quietly played in the background.

But she couldn't stop thinking about Grissom. She couldn't stop thinking about what Ecklie and Karson, and especially what Matty said. That evidence… God that evidence was hard to dispute. And he did go out with Hank that night….

But there's no way Grissom would… could kill another person. No… And it's something that Matty said that cemented that thought for Sara. Grissom would not do anything to ruin Sara's or Daniel's life. Even if he did kill Jake… which he didn't … Sara continually told herself… but even if he did, he would not escape leaving her high and dry. Never to speak to her again.

Even though he wouldn't allow any contact with her while he was in prison.

The first tendril of doubt began to manifest. But she wanted to believe in his innocence. She had to believe in his innocence.

"Dammit, Gil," she said softly to herself. "Why the hell were you on that bus?"

She grabbed the cordless phone to call Hobson Nash.

She was surprised that he answered.

"Sara, I've heard," was Hobson's greeting, sounding completely flustered. "I've had the Sheriff breathing down my neck, and the press wanting a statement, the prison warden wanting a piece of the action…"

Dismay colored her voice at the news that the media had already gotten news of the so-called escape. "Why didn't Gil want me to know he was being transferred to another prison? Did you think I wouldn't find out?" she cut off Hobson's diatribe mid-sentence. He wasn't the only one having a bad day. "And why hasn't he called? Have you even been passing on my messages?"

At the end of the line, Hobson took a deep calming breath. "Yes, I have been passing on your messages, Sara," he said calmly and in a tone that Sara believed. "I didn't tell you, because Gil asked me to wait until he was settled in his new facility, and then he was going to call you himself. As his lawyer, I had to respect his wishes, Sara. I tried to talk him round, but he was quite determined on the matter."

"Someone hurt him, didn't they?" Sara asked, thinking that was the only possible reason Gil could have for not keeping in touch.

Hobson waited a beat, clearly surprised by her surmise. "Sara, like I said…."

"Don't bullshit me, Hobson!" Sara yelled in the phone. "My husband was put on a bus that is missing. Now answer me truthfully. Was he hurt by other prisoners? Is that why he didn't want me to visit?"

"I'm sorry Sara," Hobson responded feebly.

Sara paused, feeling her emotions threatening to overwhelm her, as thoughts of Grissom being hurt crossed her mind. "He was recognized, and they hurt him, and that's why he was transferred."

"I really need to sort this mess out," Hobson said.

"Sort it out. Yes, sort things out because you've done a fantastic job so far!"

"Sara, I know you're upset…"

"Save it. Just save it," Sara said her frustration for this subpar lawyer escalating. "Do you have anything constructive to tell me?"

"You know as much as I know, Mrs. Grissom. And if I know anything more, I will promise to let you know."

"Oh, how great. I'll be sure to hold my breath, Mr. Nash." And with that trite comment, she hung up the phone.

Her hands shook with anger and anxiety, so she headed over to the playpen to pick up Daniel. She snuggled him gently to her, inhaling in his baby smell to calm her racing heart.

Daniel, wrapped his short arms around her neck tightly, delighting in the attention. "Mommommom!" he declared.

Sara smiled, despite everything. "Good boy, Cricket. Mommy. Can you find Daddy?" she asked, and pointed to a nearby photo of the three of them, that Betty had taken. "Look, there's Daddy," she pointed out Grissom. "Daddy," she said again.

"Dadadada!" Daniel copied exuberantly, and looked to Sara for approval. She praised him once more, kissing his cheek, turning it into a raspberry at the end. Daniel squirmed and wriggled as he giggled.

The giggles helped her soul, but did not extinguish the questions in her heart and mind.

"Just what is going on in that head of yours, Gil? Just where the hell are you?"


	19. Chapter 19

_A/N: An awesome beta by JellybeanChiChi, as usual. This story really wouldn't be what it is without her invaluable help, suggestions and encouragement. Many thanks also, for all your awesome comments. I'm quite far ahead in chapters, and if i continue posting only 1 chapter a week, its going to take forever. So, how do you feel about maybe 2 chapters a week? I'll stick to Wednesday's but what other day, would you like an extra chapter on? I think at least a few days apart, so that no one gets too far behind._

* * *

Chapter 18

It was a long night for Sara. She got little sleep as theories played in her head and she relived the hours and days that led up to Jake's death. Where was he at different times of the day and night? Yes, he overreacted with Jake at times, but it wasn't deadly at any time.

The sounds of Daniel playing came through the baby monitor for his after-midnight feeding. Sara still hadn't slept, but his sounds made her smile, for a moment. She made her way to his room and her smile widened then faltered slightly as thoughts of just how much Grissom was missing out crossed her mind once more. That was the one thing that Matty Foster had gotten right.

Mother and son prepared for the daily routine. She cradled Daniel as he looked at her and drank milk. His finger curled around hers and she thought about how he was growing so fast. He had found his voice, and it wouldn't be all that long before he would be talking. Having mastered the art of crawling, he was now experimenting with pulling himself up. There had been a few occasions, when Sara had turned her back for just a second, and he'd been off making his escape. When she'd turned back to look at him, he'd managed to make it across the living room, and had successfully managed to pull himself up, using the sofa as leverage. The delighted grin, on his small face had spoken volumes. He'd been quite pleased with himself. It certainly wouldn't be long, before he was walking.

She daydreamed about the small family taking a trip when all these events are behind them. But when would that time be?

She continued to think about that as Daniel started to finish and fall back asleep. She put him back in his crib and retreated back in the bedroom. All her thoughts about Grissom — what had happened, would he be back, where was he now — created an all-to-familiar anxiety.

Although tired, those thoughts prevented her from falling asleep. She grabbed her laptop and sat up in bed so she could put a pillow on her lap and perch the computer there.

All these events started with Jake, so Sara, ever the investigator, typed Jake's name into a search engine. She quickly found he had a Facebook page and clicked on the link.

Her breath caught, and goosebumps formed on her bare arms, as a cold shiver cut through her from head to toe. Jake's timeline was filled with photos of her.

She blinked several times before she realised that they weren't actually photos of her. Instead they were photos of a girl who could be her twin. The only distinction is her doppelgänger didn't have a gap between her teeth.

Swallowing down her shock, Sara continued to look through Jake's timeline. There were several more photos of women who all looked the same. Women who could easily pass for Sara.

Going through his page, alarms rang in Sara's mind. Apart from the their shared similarities to her, they all had another communality. The longer they stayed with Jake, the more the women looked unhappy. Some even looked downright scared and unsure as the relationship progressed.

Sara identified a Penny O'Brien as his most recent girlfriend. According to his timeline, they'd been dating for just over six months before Jake's case had brought him to Vegas. After only four months, Sara could already see the changes starting to appear in Penny's photos. Sara presumed the reason was that Jake's overbearing and arrogant personality had started to erode Penny's self esteem and confidence.

As she processed all the information she uncovered, Sara signed out of Facebook and switched off the computer. As she laid back down in the bed she shared with her husband, her mind drifted back to those last tumultuous days of her relationship with Jake. They had argued endlessly, and his jealousy had been a big part of their growing incompatibility. While it was entirely fine for him to have many woman "friends," it was an entirely different matter if she were to talk to another man.

Jake had been an attractive man, and he had known it. But his jealously and arrogant attitude had made him unpopular among their male colleagues. It was that "bad boy" image that attracted the women. He could turn on the charm when it suited, which had led many women to his bed.

For a little while, it seemed that Jake had changed his ways after meeting Sara. It didn't last long; within a few short months, the arrogance returned as had the jealousy. The day before he'd asked her to marry him, he'd laughed in her face when she'd confronted him about his latest woman "friend."

She'd seen through the charming veneer. She no longer knew what had attracted her to him in the first place. She'd turned down his proposal and had walked out the door, and never looked back.

Seven months later, she attended that fateful seminar and met Gil. Despite the ups and downs of their relationship that followed and despite the tumultuous time they suffered through now, Sara regretted nothing.

It was apparent that Jake had been obsessed with her, and despite the years after their break up, his jealousy of other men in her life had remained strong. The haunted look in Penny's eyes sent another shiver through Sara's body, and she couldn't help thinking she'd had a lucky escape.

But then again, he came back into her life and created this new hell. As Sara drifted off to sleep alone in her bed she thought she was anything but lucky.

* * *

When the sounds of Daniel growing restless filtered through the baby monitor in the morning, Sara's eyes popped open. She seemed to get only a few hours of rest, and now her stomach growled with hunger, and brought with it the uneasiness of the previous day.

Her anxiety over Grissom was renewed, but so was her intent to prove his innocence. While she did have questions, moments, inklings of believing maybe he did kill Jake, maybe he did break out of prison, her heart, soul and mind quashed every instance.

He was missing precious moments of Daniel's life and Sara could not believe he would put his life on a path that would allow that. Something was wrong in the investigation and something was very wrong about him being missing along with a bus, guards and other prisoners.

She decided it was time she took more of an active role. Despite being put on leave, Sara was going to start her day as she normally would. Shower, care for her son, take him to daycare and investigate a crime. One against her husband, not committed by him.

If only she could understand anything about the investigation. That would help things for sure, she thought.

* * *

As if the universe had heard her request, Sara saw a moment of serendipity an hour or so later. She had just dropped off Daniel at daycare when she spotted Nick's Denali parked at a local restaurant when he liked to get breakfast before going home.

She made a quick decision and pulled in. It was a long shot, but maybe he'd had some news on Grissom. And if he'd heard the latest news, he might be more willing to help.

She parked by his Denali and stood outside the cars waiting from him to come from the restaurant. Soon, he came to stand in front of her, his hands deep in his jeans pocket, his expression unreadable.

"Hey Nick," Sara began, but Nick held up his hand.

"Look, Sara, I really shouldn't be talking to you, with everything that has happened. Especially since Ecklie has suspended you after what's happening with Grissom..."

"You know about my suspension?" Sara was shocked by his words, not just about his knowledge of her but by the tone in his voice. She couldn't believe that he believed the worst about Grissom. "What are you saying, Nick?"

"You know what I'm saying, Sara," Nick said sadly. "Look I know this is tough for you, but you have to understand what is really going on."

"I don't believe you..." Sara shook her head. "When this whole mess first started, you didn't believe he was capable of this either. I even asked you to look for innocence, rather that guilt. And now? You believe what they're saying about him?"

"Sara, the investigation is out of our hands. There's nothing I can do. There's nothing you can do."

"Nothing I can do? What I can do is prove my husband's innocence!" Sara exploded. "I don't believe that Gil would just disappear like this, leaving not just me but Daniel, high and dry, never to be heard from again."

"Sara, if he's innocent, why not turn himself in? Or wait at the scene until help arrived?" Nick questioned. "I'm sorry, Sara, but his actions are not those of an innocent man."

Sara didn't have a retort to the comment, although she still found it a ludicrous suggestion. So if Grissom was OK, he should have just waited in the middle of the desert, the middle of nowhere without food or water? She was about to try and voice that thought, when Nick spoke up again.

"Listen, Sara, I know it is hard to believe this stuff about him, but look at the reason he is in jail to begin with. I mean, I never would have thought he could commit murder, but the evidence doesn't …"

"Don't," Sara interrupted, knowing exactly what Nick was going to say. "Now, you need to listen before you start throwing Gil's words back at me and against him. Do you truly believe that Gil… that Grissom a man you've known for so long would even be capable of murder?"

Nick shook his head sadly. "Sara, I saw the guy throw a punch at Jake…"

"Yeah, throw a punch. Like you might have done. Like I know you wanted to do," Sara responded, receiving a red-faced response from her friend. At that point, she knew her argument struck a cord. "So he threw a punch. Does that automatically mean he would kill someone? I mean, come on Nick, you know he isn't a violent man. Hell, I can count on one hand the times he carried his service weapon, let alone drew his gun in the course of his duty. He was a scientist first and foremost. This isn't the Grissom I know or the Grissom you know. There's more to this than there appears, and I'm going to find it, with or without your help."

Nick stared silently at Sara for several minutes, as he weighed up her words. He knew she spoke the truth; Gil Grissom would never leave his wife and son behind, without so much as a word. But he also knew that if Grissom made a huge mistake he would want Sara to be as far away from that mistake as possible.

Even if that meant killing a man out of jealous rage and taking a moment of serendipity to escape prison and fall off the face of the earth.

"You're thinking like his wife and not as a CSI…"

The simple statement enraged Sara. "Screw you, Nick!"

"No. Now you stop!" Nick insisted, his own anger rising. "When Karen O'Shea posed this theory, me and Hess both took a hard look at this and think it might be what happened."

"Karen O'Shea? She's lead on the investigation?" Sara truly couldn't believe that. Not only is she a sub-par CSI, she always had it out for Sara and was probably enjoying the opportunity to steam roll any investigation of her husband.

"No, Karen's not the lead, but that doesn't mean her theory shouldn't be considered," Nick said. "You know, Sara, if this was anyone else other than Grissom, you'd be thinking exactly the same things as I'm thinking! Don't deny that."

Sara took a deep breath to control her emotions. "You guys are not even trying to stop the gossip. You all are assuming he escaped, instead of treating him like a missing person."

The two friends stood across each other, stone faced. Neither was going to budge in their argument. Sara knew it was time to leave before she would say something she regretted.

Before she turned to leave, she wanted to strike home one more chord. "You know, Nick, you might think I am not thinking like a CSI, but maybe you need to check yourself, because I thought CSIs had to look at situations from more than one perspective. Not a singular perspective that is rooted in gossip and preconceived notion."

With that she turned away leaving Nick to stew in a myriad of many thoughts.

* * *

 _His body lurched to the side, his face cracking against the passenger window as the bus jarred violently once more as the bus was again hit from behind. Prisoners and guards alike, were flung forcefully from their seats, in a tumbling mess of arms and legs. The sounds of rendering metal, filled the air as the semi pulled back. It edged closer to the severely damaged and mangled rear end of the prison bus, ramming it a third time._

Although unconscious, Grissom relived those moments in his mind. When he relived the bus veering dangerously to the left, and then ploughing into the hillside, he woke up with an equally shuddering jolt.

Grissom swore he could once again smell gun powder, and just underneath the surface, a faint scent of gasoline as worked to regain consciousness. It hurt to move, so he couldn't evaluate his current surroundings, but it seemed to be a very small, dark room. He was lying upon a metal cot with a mattress thinner than the one in his prison cell. As a bonus, his left hand was cuffed to the frame.

The sole window in the room was boarded up, but light seemed to filter through cracks and knots in the wood. He squinted his eyes and saw a door. He certainly wasn't in the transport bus any more. He didn't seem to be in a prison cell either. But he might as well have been.

How did he get here? Grissom tried remember what happened. After the crash, his body was sprawled between his seat and the aisle and he heard low groans around him. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth and pain radiated through his body and emanated from his left side.

A gunshot. The smell of gun powder had seemed to thicken.

That memory jarred Grissom everything seemed to rush to him at once.

 _The blurred outline of a head and shoulders filled his vision. He blinked owlishly, as he tried to recall a name, but the task was too difficult for his confused mind, so he gave up. Darkness edged his vision once more, as unconsciousness threatened to consume him again._

" _Oh, no you don't, Grissom," the blurred shape ordered, as it shook Grissom. The voice sounded muffled to his dulled senses. "Wake up!" the voice ordered sharply, shaking him vigorously._

 _Groggily, Grissom tried to comply with the voice, as the shape leaned over him, and unfastened the shackle to his foot. He was impatiently shaken again, the movement causing pain to shoot from his left knee and his left side just below his ribs._

" _On your feet, Grissom! If you think I'm carrying you out of here, you can think again!"_

 _Two more muffled voices, mingled with the first one, then hands grasped him roughly under the arms and pulled him roughly to his feet. Nausea swirled in his stomach, as the interior of the bus spun madly. He swayed slightly, and the hands gripped him more tightly._

" _Grissom, focus!" another voice ordered sharply. "I just need you to get your ass outside!" Recognition danced just out of reach of his confused senses._

He walked and was dragged outside. He heard the guard who escorted him speaking with someone else. They talked about the driver and the other prisoners.

" _All but the driver are dead."_

The guard from his prison. That was the voice.

" _And I'm about to deal with the driver now."_

" _After you do, don't forget to grab the dispatch radio."_

Grissom didn't recognize that voice at all.

" _Right, boss."_

Grissom was situated at the rear of the bus. He sat slumped against a wheel. He felt weak and nauseous and wondered how much blood stained the right side of his face.

Then he heard another gunshot.

The rest of the scene seemed to be a blur as Grissom waited under the brutal sun. At one point, he was half-pushed, half-dragged to a sedan. What was it? A Lexus or a Camry or a Buick. Could have been anything. Some type of four-door car. There was a tow truck that worked to winch the mangled wreckage of the bus upon its flat bed.

If didn't Grissom know any better, he might have thought there was an accident and prison officials were working to get them back on track with another transport.

But that didn't explain the gunshots. And it truly didn't explain the conversations that filtered in Grissom's tired, injured brain.

" _It's an almost two-hour drive to the scrap yard in North Las Vegas. The owner will be expecting you…"_

The voice of what Grissom surmised was the leader seemed so familiar. But he couldn't place it then and he still couldn't place it now.

" _They're closed for lunch between 11:30 a.m. and 12.30 p.m. There's a bonus in it for you, if you can get there, before they reopen. Got it?"_

As he laid upon the uncomfortable mattress, Grissom worked to remember anything else after that moment, but he could think of nothing. He had no lucid recollection of anything else. _I must have been drugged or knocked out,_ he thought.

Grissom's anxiety started to peak. He fought back his pain and worked to sit up on the bed. Where was he? Where were the other prisoners? And the guards? What were those gunshots about? He wondered if he should call for help, but the rattle of his cuffed hand quashed any notion that he was in a situation where people might help him.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of someone unlocking the door. The lights were switched on and Grissom adjusted his eyes to the newfound brightness of the room. The figure approached him, and soon recognition was there as Grissom's eyes widened then narrowed.

"Hello Grissom."


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N: Many thanks to Jellybean for the amazing job of beta. As always many thanks for the comments and reviews. Be warned that this chapter contains mature content._

* * *

Chapter 19

Grissom blinked, not quite willing to believe what his eyes and brain were telling him.

"Rory," Grissom rasped, his voice hoarse, his throat feeling raw and parched. "What..." He paused suddenly as another more pressing thought came to him, his eyes widening. He moved his cuffed hand in a position that allowed him to sit up. Despite his situation, his gaze hardened. "Where am I? Is Sara here, my son?" he demanded, his voice stronger. "If you've hurt…."

Rory laughed. "You pompous asshole. You think you can demand anything in the position you're in? You'll know what I want you to know." He punched Grissom in the mouth to punctuate his point. Grissom's head snapped back with the force of the blow, as blood ran down his chin, his eyes wide with shock.

Rory got close in Grissom's face. "You're an idiot, Grissom. A fucking idiot. You thought when I got behind bars, I would be stopped. You thought I would just fade away. But you, the great Gil Grissom, just can't fathom how powerful I truly am."

Grissom took a deep breath. It was him, Rory, the whole time who set him up for murder. This dangerous man, did he do something to his loved ones, too? "You got me in prison. You've ruined my life. Please tell me you are just… please… Sara? You haven't don't anything to her, please?"

Rory chuckled. He would never give anything Grissom wanted to know. "While it's true, I pulled the strings to get you in prison, but, my God, Grissom, you were such a willing and perfect puppet. You let your emotions get involved with that ex-lover. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. So fucking _perfect_! I'd say it was easy, but then again, I was in fucking prison. Because of you."

He slapped Grissom hard across the face. And seeing his stunned look, Rory struck him again, his face full of both rage and evil enjoyment. "It's quite amazing how many people, on both sides of the law, you managed to piss off over the years, with that smug 'nothing can touch me' attitude."

Both sides of the law. Those words reverberated in Grissom's brain, even as he worried about his wife and son. When Rory got in close to his face again, Grissom moved back.

"Scared Grissom?" Rory asked. "You should be."

Grissom straightened up. "If you planned so long for this, then fine. Kill me. Just, please, don't hurt my family."

Rory chuckled. "Kill you? Right now? Come on Grissom, now that the moment is here, I want to savor it for as long as I want to." He punctuated his words, with a hard painful prod on Grissom's bare chest.

Grissom screamed in pain."What do you want from me, Rory?"

The change in Rory was quick. With a growl of rage, Rory had Grissom in a choke hold. "What do I want?!" He demanded, furiously, as Grissom struggled to breathe. "Justice, Grissom! Justice for my _brother_!"

Just as quickly, Rory's anger subsided, and he released his hold on Grissom, who took several whooping gulps of much needed air.

Taking advantage of the stricken man's weakness, Rory quickly unlocked the cuff from around Grissom's left wrist.

"Get up, you piece of shit!"Rory ordered as he nodded towards the door.

Grissom did as he was told, shaking and wincing as pain flared in his left knee and pulled on his left side.

Rory caught the hitch in Grissom's hitch and kicked the back of his knee to move Grissom along faster. The action made Grissom fall hard, but Rory roughly pulled him up and pushed him through the door.

Grissom looked around the room to see if anyone else was in the space. He hoped he wouldn't see Sara or Daniel anywhere in the vicinity. Soon, Rory ordered him to stop. Immediately in front of him was a crane-like hook, that was once used to haul heavy objects around the warehouse. Over the hook was a pair of manacled chains.

"Fasten them over your wrists," Rory instructed as he pointed to the manacles.

"No," Grissom refused.

The blow was to his injured left side and blackness descended from the corners of his eyes. He fought passing out and drew in a shuddering, shaky breath as he followed Rory's orders.

Checking once and satisfied that the shackles were secure, Rory raised the hook until Grissom's arms are above his head. A grimace flashed across Grissom's face as the position pulled on his side. He'd been stripped down to his boxers, while he'd been unconscious. There was a purple-black bruise just below his ribs on his left side, that he'd probably sustained in the crash. A vague memory of hitting the seat across from him on the bus flashed briefly in his mind.

Somewhere behind him Grissom became aware of footsteps approaching. He tried to turn his head, but his vision was blocked by his arms.

"It's about time," Rory greeted the newcomer, irritably, walking out of Grissom's field of vision.

"It's over an hour's drive from Vegas, and I had to deal with the warden's questions." The voice trailed off at the furious glare Rory cast their way.

"Don't piss me off and don't make excuses," Rory threatened. "Take a good look at him. You want to end up like that?"

Grissom worked to try and see who the newcomer with the eerily familiar voice was.

Rory smiled as he realized he had two flies in a trap. What better way to keep one man in line and revealing who carries all the power than showing tremendous force against a man bound up for Rory's personal pleasure.

"You know, Grissom, I was only twelve when my brother stood trial because of you," Rory stated in a conversational tone. He glanced at his visitor, who had taken a frightened step back in the abandoned warehouse. Rory then walked behind Grissom towards a small table just out of Grissom's line of sight.

"I'd insisted with my parents, that I wanted to see Tyler's accuser. Face the man responsible for tearing a family apart. Tyler was good cop. Until you came along, and set him up!"

"He set himself up," Grissom hissed through gritted teeth. "He falsified evidence that allowed a serial killer to escape justice..."

Rory's right arm lashed out, and Grissom felt the electrical sting of a stun gun on his left side. His muscles contracted and his body spasamed painfully as he choked back his cry of pain. The burst was only two seconds long, but the damaging effects lasted far longer for Grissom as his body shook uncontrollable.

"You falsified evidence. You laid all the blame at Tyler's feet. It was because of you, he never saw his daughter born. My parents and his wife, Camille, never got over his death. The struggles she faced raising three kids on her own."

"He'd been tampering with evidence, long before I ever came to Minnesota…."

Grissom's body jerked and spasamed again as Rory stunned him once more. The chains rattled as Grissom's body twisted and his arms shook. Grissom groaned as his breath hitched and his head hung low. His shoulders ached with the strain of his arms held above his head. Nausea swirled in his stomach.

"I didn't set him up!" Grissom gasped painfully, his chest rising rapidly in panic. Sweat beaded his bare skin, and stained his boxers.

Grissom was filled with panic as Rory walked behind him once more. The sound of an unexpected snap filled the abandoned warehouse. Rory continually snapped the whip across Grissom's back.

Along with stinging pain, Grissom could feel blood run down his exposed back. The snapping sound of the whip came again, and he bit savagely on his lip to stop from crying out. His hands clenched into fists and his taut arms shook, causing the chains to rattle, as he's body twisted and arched in pain.

By the time the whip lashed his back a third time, Grissom could no longer hold his cry of agony. Blood trickled down from the multiple lacerations that criss crossed his back. The chains rattled and clinked as his body twisted with each punishing snap of the whip.

Finally, after a dozen or so strikes, Rory put the whip down. He approached Grissom who whimpered as his whole body shook. Grissom sagged between the chains, his fisted hands clenched tightly while his arms trembled in agony.

Rory came around to face Grissom, and savagely yanked his head up by his hair. Grissom's face was creased in pain and streaked with a mixture of blood, sweat and tears. His hair was limp with sweat. His upper torso glistened with moisture. His eyes, once a deep ocean blue, were now black with fear and pain, the whites bloodshot. He sucked on his bottom lip trying to stifle the groan of pain. His back burned and stung.

"This could have been so much easier, Grissom. But you had to take the high road didn't you?" Rory shook Grissom's head roughly to prove his point. Grissom sobbed, has he took a shuddering breath.

Rory grinned, delighted at the other man's misery. "I'll ask you again..."

"N-no!" Grissom croaked, his voice, hoarse with pain.

Rory nodded, his twisted grin unwavering. He quickly looked behind him to see his visitor rooted in his spot, arms tightly crossed over his chest and face yielding confusion, anxiety and fear.

It was exactly the reaction Rory hoped for. He released his hold of Grissom's head, and half turned away. Before suddenly turning back to face Grissom, and backhanded him across the mouth, hard.

"Hit me as much as you want!" Grissom screamed hoarsely. He might have been at a breaking point. But he wasn't broken yet. "It doesn't matter what connections you have!"

"This guy? Am I right? Just doesn't know when to admit the truth," Rory joked with the visitor before returning his gaze to Grissom.

Grissom's stubborn retorts didn't surprise Rory. He hadn't expected anything less. He knew it wouldn't be that easy to get Grissom to admit his faults. And honestly, he would be sorely disappointed if it was that easy.

An admission at this point would stop all the fun. And Rory was having too much fun to stop.

"Why is that, tough guy? Huh?"

"The prison system and law enforcement … they…" He continually paused to focus on words instead of pain. "A bus transport with prisoners and guards can't disappear… not … not without an investigation."

Rory grinned, his chuckle turning into a belly laugh. He shook his head, and spread his arms wide. "What bus? You mean the bus that was sent to a chop shop in North Las Vegas?"

Rory theatrically checked his watch then looked at his visitor. "I'm guessing pieces of it are being transported across state lines, right about now, don't you think?" He turned back to Grissom. "Yup. My friend here confirms that, Gilbert. Oh, and as for the investigators, they're twiddling their thumbs up their asses because we made sure they believed the bus was all the way in Beatty, Nevada when it got lost. But we're no where near Beatty, are we?" Grissom could see the maniacal look Rory shot to the man behind him.

"No, sir. We're not near Beatty."

"Confirmation again," Rory said with a laugh.

"They'll find …" Grissom gasped, and tried to talk, "find … something."

Rory got right in Grissom's face and roughly cradled the prisoner's chin. "They won't find a thing. No pieces of wreckage. No evidence. No bullet casings. No bodies of the prisoners or driver. Not one shred of evidence." He slapped Grissom's face, his go-to for punctuating his point. "It's like everyone vanished, and I'm still in prison."

Grissom's tongue traced the fresh blood that trickled from the corner of his mouth. Despite his beaten body, his mind began to understand the gravity of the breakout and of his situation. He shook his head back and forth. "No. … no."

"If you think you can defy me for long, Grissom, think again. There's only one way this will end. I _will_ break you, Grissom." He punched Grissom hard in the stomach. "You hear me?" He punched him again. "I will break you. In any way possible."

Rory left Grissom's side and went to speak to his visitor, "You'd better get back to Vegas, before they miss you. And remember, you're up to your neck in this. I only have to say..."

"I-I-I know what's at stake. I have no intention of saying anything."

Rory nodded. There was no reason to waste his energy, all in one day. Besides, Grissom would need some time to recover. Not a lot, but some. And Rory Dunbar was a patient man. He left the two men alone — one in chains and the other rooted in his spot.

Even after he watched Rory leave he stayed in his spot for several minutes. He could hear Grissom's heavy breathing wracked with pain. He finally uncrossed his arms, immediately putting one hand in the pocket of his suit pants.

He should have just left, but he couldn't get himself to move toward the exit yet. He made his way toward Grissom allowing the prisoner to see him. Hobson Nash, Grissom's lawyer, looked at his client whose face was a mask of pain and distress. He was horrified to witness Rory batter Grissom, torture him to no end.

"Gil, I'm… I'm so sorry. I-I-I had no idea he would go this far!" Hobson stammered, his face still white with shock.

Grissom swallowed back a whimper of pain, as he gazed distrustfully at the lawyer. "What… what did you… expect?" Grissom gasped as he grimaced. "Harsh w-words?"

Hobson stared at the battered man in front of him then downcast his eyes. He turned and Grissom could hear the man's meek footsteps as he left.

Alone now and still bound, Grissom swallowed heavily as the magnitude of events truly hit home. The framing of murder. His incarceration. His beatings in prison. His transfer. All of those things had led up to this point.

And now he knew the man who had been meant to defend him from a murder he hadn't committed, had been in collusion with Rory Dunbar, all along. The revelation filled Grissom with a sense of foreboding. With overwhelming despair he realized, even if he was fortunate enough to survive Rory, he might never be able to prove his innocence.

He didn't know what scared him more: that realization or thinking about what Rory had in store for him.

* * *

 _A/N 2: To recall, Rory Dunbar is the Sheriff and protagonist from Grissom's Heart._


	21. Chapter 21

_A/N: Many thanks to JellyBean, who not only beta'd this chapter, but partially wrote the chapter too. Appreciation for all your comments/reviews. :)_

* * *

Chapter 20

Hobson Nash was a mess, literally and figuratively.

His meeting with Rory Dunbar at a warehouse in Pahrump left him nervous, anxious and devastated. Seeing what Rory did to Grissom was not just a shock; Hobson knew the scene before him was a scare tactic, a warning of what Rory was capable of and what fate might lie ahead of the lawyer.

Witnessing the beating Grissom took, the blood dripping off his body, the pain in every twitch, and knowing he helped put Grissom in that position played over and over in Hobson's head as he drove back to Vegas.

 _I had no choice,_ he continued to tell himself. _I have too much debt. Those monsters were going to tear my arms off. I had no other choice than to take Dunbar's offer._

"Better Grissom than me" became Hobson's mantra. Rory had given him one more task and was told to lay low. But there was no way Hobson would just wait around to what he perceived would be the inevitable — someone coming around to kill him.

His first stop was to get to the office and sneak in without being noticed by co-workers. He truly looked like shit, and wanted no wandering eyes checking him out.

After filling a box with essentials, he drove to his apartment. After he opened the from door, he dropped the box he'd taken from his office on the breakfast bar, then headed into his bedroom to hastily pack. After tossing as many clothes as he could into his suitcase, he snapped it shut and grabbed his laptop case, and slung it over his shoulder, before hurrying back into the living area.

Taking only the essentials from the box of items from his office, he paused by the doorway, checking to see if there was anything he'd missed, before leaving the apartment without a backward glance.

* * *

After his argument with Sara, Nick returned home and couldn't get a good rest. He had tossed and turned for what felt like hours, and had woken before his alarm. Knowing sleep would allude him, he grudgingly got up to start a pot of coffee while he showered.

The events of that morning continuously played in his mind, making him feel uneasy. He kept coming back to something Sara had said, how he was letting rumors persuade his judgment. But he didn't feel that was a fair assumption on Sara's part. When he was tapped to gather evidence in Jake's death, Nick had fully intended to look for Grissom's innocence. But as the investigation had progressed, he'd soon realized that it wasn't going to be that easy. Whichever way he looked at the evidence, it only confirmed Grissom's guilt further, rather than exonerate him.

Yet, Sara's words continued to plague his mind.

Nick tossed his coffee into the sink. There was only one way this could be settled; he would go over his case again, and take a look at the investigation on the jail break. He knew Karen O'Shea was part of that investigation. She was not a sloppy CSI, and it might seem unlikely, but maybe Nick could pick up on something she'd missed.

Some three hours before his shift, Nick went over the evidence of Jake Sullivan's case while in the layout room. Just as he had concluded before, the evidence pointed to him and his colleagues having to accept Grissom's guilt as reality. The man they all thought they knew had killed a man in a jealous rage. Having no choice, they'd had to take a step back, both from the case and from Sara.

If there was one thing he could agree with what Sara said to him it was how much he had wanted to punch Jake himself. He certainly didn't blame Grissom for hitting the guy; Jake had deserved it. But no matter how much of an asshole Jake had been, he hadn't deserved to be murdered. It was understandable that Sara would stand by Grissom, Nick wouldn't expect anything else. But she had to understand how breaking out of jail only quashes any notion of Grissom's innocence.

With a frustrated sigh, Nick gathered the evidence back together. He might not have the freshest eyes, but nothing popped out and nothing seemed out of place. After putting the boxes aside, he slid the file folder containing Karen's notes from the jail break. He was reading some information when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Karson Hess in the hallway. The two caught each other's eye and Karson went inside the layout room.

He looked at his watch. "You're awfully early for your shift, Stokes," Karson said with a smile.

"And you're awfully late for yours, Mr. Day shift supervisor," Nick retorted kindly. "You must have a helluva case going on."

Karson shook his head. "Yeah, it's been one of those days for us. It's bleeding into our night. I wouldn't be surprised if you get called out early if your supervisor finds you," he drew out a breath and stretched his neck from side-to-side. Plus there's the prison break we have to contend with. They've kept this out of the media hoping we clear the damn thing up, but at some point this is gonna break in the media."

He looked down at the file folder. "Is that the case?"

"Yeah, I've been thinking about it," Nick said. "You mentioned before it was OK to check it out..."

"No, no that's fine. You see anything interesting?"

"Well, I've only started about 10 minutes ago," Nick said, looking at the place he last read. "But you know, this is a little unusual."

Karson took a closer look where Nick was pointing. "What is it?"

"Up until this point, everything is really well documented, but Karen didn't notate the name of the person as the source of the prisoner manifest at Southern Nevada Correctional Center."

"It just reads assistant warden," Karson said, following Nick's train of thought. "Did she list the source for the other prison, which was it? High Desert."

Nick traced his finger on the report. "I'm pretty sure she did... Yeah, here it is. The warden from High Desert State, where Grissom and two inmates were from, was listed as Ruben Harrison."

"She listed one name and not the other," Karson said.

"Yeah, and you'd think she would talk to the warden. Although if he wasn't around when she called..."

"Yeah, that's not so unusual, but there's no reason not to list the assistant warden's name."

"It's an easy find," Nick said. "I can find that out by going to the prison's web page..."

A knock on the window of the layout room interrupted Nick's thought. It was Catherine. "Nick. I heard you were around. One less call I have to make. Got a helluva a mess on the strip. Meet me in my office for details."

Karson chuckled. "What did I tell you? I should have made a bet."

Nick smiled and picked up the evidence box for the Sullivan case. "You going home anytime soon?"

"Going to my office for a few things, then heading out."

"You want to go ahead and take the file from the jail break?" Nick asked. "I can get it from you later."

"Yeah sure," Karson said. "Good luck tonight."

* * *

By 8 a.m. the next morning, Nick stood bare chested in front of his locker feeling tired from lack of sleep and a busy shift. He, Warrick and Greg worked one big case together and finally came to a stopping point.

Pulling on a clean t-shirt, his mind once more returned to Karen's report and why she'd not named a source for the prisoner manifest of one of the prisons. It had been bothering him off and on all night. Something about the omission, just didn't jive with him.

"Hey, bro, we're heading to Frank's for some breakfast. You in?" Warrick's voice broke into Nick's musings, as he tucked his clean t-shirt into his trousers.

Nick offered him a small smile. "I'm good thanks, rain check?"

"Catherine's buyin'" Warrick tried to convince his friend. "You okay?" he asked, noticing not for the first time, his friend's preoccupation. "Something you wanna talk about?"

Nick shook his head, his mind already back to tugging on the thread once more. "I'm good, but thanks, 'Rick. I'll see ya tonight," he said, clasping Warrick's shoulder, before heading out of the locker room.

He headed out of the locker room and instead of going to the garage, he went to Karson's office hoping to get the file once again. He saw him there tapping away at his computer, so Nick knocked on the door. "Mind if I come in?"

"Yeah, I was hoping you might stop by," Karson said, picking up the file. "I was just looking at the department of corrections website to try and find the name of the assistant warden at Southern Nevada."

Nick went around to Karson's desk and looked over his shoulder. Karson found the appropriate website, went to the staff and scrolled down past the warden's name and face to see the name and face of the assistant warden.

The expression on Nick's face morphed from curiosity to disbelief. "David Fromansky."

He said the name in such a way, that Karson turned around. "You know him, Stokes?"

"Yeah, yeah... I can't believe..." Nick's voice trailed off and put a nervous hand over his mouth. "Fromansky had words years ago with Grissom. He hated CSIs. But that was years ago, I mean... water under the bridge I'm sure."

Karson could tell the information rattled Nick, a seasoned CSI who had seen more than his share of life and death and everything in between. "Close the door and take a seat, Nick. Let's call the prison and get this straightened out."

After the CSI did as instructed, Karson called Southern Nevada and asked for assistant warden David Fromansky.

"I'm sorry, sir. He is not in," a receptionist said.

Still on the website for Southern Nevada, Karson scrolled up his computer screen to view the warden's name. "OK, could I please speak to Warden Mark Ingram? This is Karson Hess of Las Vegas CSI. It is urgent concerning the prisoner transfer."

"Yes sir, Mr. Hess," the receptionist said, a little more alert after the introduction. "I will get him on the line for you."

Soon a man's voice boomed from the speaker phone. "This is Warden Mark Ingram."

"Karson Hess, day shift supervisor at Vegas CSI."

"I sure as shit hope you have some news for me, Hess."

"We're working the best we can to locate your guard and prisoner, Warden."

"Prisoner? What do you mean by prisoner?"

Karson and Nick exchanged confused looks. "Warden, we're working on a prisoner manifest offered by your assistant warden, David Fromansky."

"Yeah, and that manifest should read one guard and two prisoners."

Now Karson's expression morphed into disbelief. "Warden, I need the names of the guard and prisoners."

"Guard: Ellis Crossan. Prisoners: Flynn Barker and Rory Dunbar."

Both Nick and Karson recognized Dunbar's name. And upon hearing that name, both men's blood flowed like ice.


	22. Chapter 22

_A/N: Many thanks to JellybeanChiChi, for the awesome beta on this chapter. She also wrote a good portion of this chapter, so i can't take full credit. Lots of appreciation for your comments/reviews._

* * *

CHAPTER 21

Sara sipped on her mango smoothie as she absentmindedly pushed Daniel in a baby swing at Desert Breeze Park. Nearby Hank lay on a grassy patch as he kept guard of a small diaper bag on the bench and the stroller by his side.

It was day three of Grissom being missing, and Sara hadn't heard anything from anyone. The last person she spoke with about the mysterious disappearance was Nick the day before. The 24 hours since her conversation with him did nothing to alleviate her shock, hurt and anger.

Nick all but made her feel like a fool for believing something terrible had happened to Grissom. It seemed that Nick and all her colleagues — her longtime friends — had accepted the unbelievable account that Grissom committed murder even before he could be tried. And in the process, they separated themselves from Sara, as if she was a pariah. Nick wanted Sara to understand there was no other way, and if she were in their shoes she would be doing the same thing.

That idea swirled in Sara's head over and over for 24 hours. As she stayed in the home she shared with the man she loved. As she cared for the child they created out of love. As she consoled and was consoled by the pet he had brought into their relationship and who she loved more and more every day.

Through all that she examined whether she was wrong in her sentiment. Maybe she was playing the role of a wife and not considering the role of the CSI. And every time she evaluated all those notions, Sara came to the same conclusion.

Bullshit.

Whether as a wife, a lover or a CSI, it didn't matter what hat Sara Sidle would put on because the fact remained the same: Grissom would not kill another human being. And Grissom would not stage an elaborate breakout of a maximum-security prison that made multiple people and a bus disappear in thin air. He's not David Copperfield, magician extraordinaire. He's Gil Grissom. Former CSI, longtime bug geek, son, husband, father and man who believes in law and order and the rule of morality and decency.

Was it really out of the realm of possibility that someone set up Grissom? Sara didn't think so and she hated that her colleagues — people who had known and worked with Grissom for so long — couldn't think about that as a possibility as well.

 _If only I could see the evidence,_ Sara said to herself as she sipped her smoothie.

She shook her head and let out a sigh. She came to the park this morning to try and get her mind off of things. Sitting in that house letting her mind run free while waiting for a phone that would never ring drove her nuts. She didn't want that to happen again today. So she strapped Daniel in a stroller for a long walk, first to a smoothie shop about a five minute walk from the house, and then to the park, which was on the way home.

Seeing that Daniel was losing interest in the swing, Sara brought it to a stop and took Daniel out. She walked toward Hank, who lifted his head up and sat up for her.

"Holding down the fort, I see," Sara said as she placed Daniel in the stroller. While she sat down and prepared a bottle, Hank sniffed at Daniel's feet as the boy smiled and shuffled his feet up and down. The moment of ordinary normalcy made Sara smile. She finished prepping Daniel's bottle and picked him up from the stroller. Daniel was quick to grab at the bottle in his mother's hands. "So impatient. I wonder where you get that from?"

The trio quietly enjoyed the mid morning sunshine under the shade of an oak tree. Sara was looking down at Daniel when she heard Hank sit up and make low, growling noises. The canine sentry became alert as he noticed a man approaching them.

Sara squinted her eyes as she watched the tall man in a suit approach her family. She held Daniel a little tighter but then recognized who the man was.

"It's OK, Hank. Stay."

Seeing the boxer, the lawyer stopped a respectable distance so he might be invited to sit. "Hello, Sara. Beautiful morning for a day at the park."

"Mr. Jacobsen," Sara responded with a nod. "It's OK, Hank. Sit. He's fine."

"Fine dog you have. Takes good care of you."

"We take care of each other," Sara said. "Why are you here? Do you have news?"

"May I sit down?" he asked cordially.

Sara scooted to the edge closer to Hank. She left the diaper bag on the bench, but scooted it closer to her as well. "How did you know I was here?"

Jacobsen sat down. "I went to the house first, but there was no answer. Gil told me you both love walking to this park on sunny days. Thought I'd give it a shot."

"Oh," Sara said forlornly.

"And to answer your question, I don't have any news yet. I'm sorry, dear. I was actually hoping you might know something. Have you heard anything from Hobson?"

The name made Sara's blood boil. "You mean that loser you put on Gil's case? No, I haven't heard from him. Why?"

"He missed an important early morning court date today."

"Shocking."

"It actually is, Sara," Jacobsen said. "I'm worried there's something truly amiss."

"Forgive me for not having the patience or compassion for Hobson Nash," Sara said, cognizant not to raise her voice too much so she wouldn't disturb Daniel or Hank. "But that man has done nothing but hide the truth from me about my husband, and has been a useless attorney."

"I know you're disappointed with him, Sara. I am too. I wish to hell I wasn't away on family matters when all this went down with Gil. I handpicked Hobson because he was one of the rising stars in the firm. And with Gil's reputation, I thought..." Jacobsen paused to compose himself and sat up straight. "This has exploded in a way I never thought fathomable. If I could turn back time, I would have returned sooner."

Sara let her anger taper down a bit. She had never been sure how much to trust this man, especially in light of her experience with Hobson. But she had to admit; he looked remorseful. "Well, neither one of us can turn back time, so we have to deal with what's going on. And I'm worried, Mr. Jacobsen. Very worried about him."

Jacobsen knew Sara wasn't talking about his subordinate. "I'm worried about Gil, too, Sara. And I want to do everything I can to make it up to you and him and your family. Everything. And, in light of circumstances, I would like to formally offer my services to represent your husband."

Sara didn't understand exactly what was going on, but she went with the flow. "Yes. I agree to that, Mr. Jacobsen."

"Thank you."

The awkward moment still unnerved Sara, who didn't know exactly what to say. "Umm... Does that mean I have to give you payment. I saw that on TV. But I have no cash."

As if on cue, Daniel gave his beloved ant to Jacobsen. Both adults smiled at one another knowing the child had inadvertently dissolved some tension. "Well, Master Grissom," Jacobsen said. "That's quite a gesture. Thank you."

He took the ant from Daniel, who held a serious, introspective look. "Well, it's official, I'll be your counsel." Once that was said, Jacobsen handed the ant back. "And if Daniel doesn't mind holding onto the collateral for me."

"He won't mind at all, Mr. Jacobsen," Sara said, her soft expression turning serious once again. "So where do you go from here?"

"Right now, I think it is important to try and find Hobson, your former attorney."

"You said it was a big deal he didn't show up for court. Are you thinking he left town?" Sara asked, as she put down Daniel's bottle and placed him on her shoulder.

"That's an awful big jump, Sara," Jacobsen said. "I'm don't think that should be an immediate conclusion, but I've called his estranged wife. I've called a few friends I know of. Of course I tried his cell phone and house number."

After garnering a burp from Daniel, Sara went into full investigator mode. "Did you go into his office to see if he had packed anything away?"

"I did go into his office to retrieve some phone numbers. There was nothing, really amiss. Paperwork was there. A phone log I knew he had."

"What about personal things?" Sara asked. "Were there any personal items missing from the desk that you can remember? Photos? Favorite CD? Maybe something that would remind him of a loved one..."

"The baseball." Jacobsen blurted out. He looked reflective as he glanced toward Sara. "He had a baseball on his desk. It was the first homerun his son made in Little League. It wasn't there."

"Are you sure?" Sara pressed. "Maybe it had been gone for a while and you hadn't noticed?"

"I don't believe so," Jacobsen said.

"If Hobson was to skip town, you think he would have left that baseball behind?"

Jacobsen took a deep breath, but before he could answer his phone rang. "Will you excuse me for a moment? It is work."

As Jacobsen took a few steps away from the bench to make the call, a new feeling of dread swept over Sara. If Hobson had skipped town that would not bode well for Grissom. To the authorities, they will believe the lawyer going missing only cements the fact that Grissom staged a jailbreak.

But Sara never trusted Hobson, and knowing he had hidden the truth from her before about how Grissom was faring in jail only meant he could be hiding a lot more. Jacobsen might have thought Hobson was a good lawyer, but what if he was part of some conspiracy against her husband. What if Hobson knows where Grissom is and now he's in the wind?

And the worst part of all this was Sara believed she might be the only person worried about Grissom and his well being instead of assuming he is a guilty man on the run.

Sara returned Daniel to her lap and gave him his favorite ant stuffed animal. As she watched Jacobsen came back to the bench, she noticed he looked more worried than before. "What's wrong?"

"That was one of my partners at the law firm. I need to speak to him at the office," Jacobsen said. "Sara, as far as I'm concerned you are Hobson's most important client, and I believe you deserve full disclosure about any information we have. Would you be willing to drive with me to the office?"

Sara stood up with Daniel in her arms. "I need to get back to the house and drop off Hank. It won't take me long to walk home, it's only a 15 minute walk..."

"Don't be silly," Jacobsen said, as he picked up the diaper bag. "I have the car seat for my grandson in the car. I can drive you to the house, and then to my office, if you are comfortable with that."

Sara wasn't quite sure. "You don't mind having a boxer in your car?"

Jacobsen smiled. "It's just a 5 minute drive. What can happen in 5 minutes?"

They walked quickly to the car and strapped both Daniel and Hank in the backseat. As promised they arrived to Sara's doorstep without a hitch. While Jacobsen waited in his car, Sara settled Hank in the house with fresh water and food and put a new diaper on Daniel. Although Sara called her mother-in-law about the possibility of taking care of Daniel, Betty Grissom had a series of doctor appointments. The duo decided if Sara could drop Daniel off at the daycare for a few hours, Betty would pick him up when her appointments were done.

The trio drove in relative silence for about five minutes, until Sara asked, "What you said back at the park, did you mean that?"

"About being Hobson's most important client? Absolutely."

Sara let out a soft sigh, waiting a moment before speaking again. "Gil didn't kill anyone. And he didn't escape prison."

Jacobsen also waited a moment before speaking. "I believe that to be true, too, Sara."

The two said nothing more on the drive. The only sounds were that of the engine and the occasional soft babble from Daniel.

There was still so much anxiety about the situation, yet, for the first time in a long while, Sara felt solace. Someone believed as she did. Someone else believed Grissom was innocent and said it out loud.

Maybe Sara wasn't alone after all.


	23. Chapter 23

_A/N. Many thanks to JellybeanChiChi, for another awesome beta on this chapter. She also worked on half of this chapter too. Be warned that this chapter has mature content._

* * *

CHAPTER 22

Rory Dunbar hummed a familiar jingle in between taking bites of his second Hot Pocket. He was satisfied his latest visitor fulfilled his request of a small microwave and a box of Hot Pockets. He told Fromansky to surprise him with the flavor of the microwaveable, handheld sandwich, and he was pleasantly surprised.

"Philly Cheese Steak," Rory said as he looked down at the floor where Fromansky laid. "Good choice, buddy."

Unfortunately, Fromansky couldn't appreciate the accolade. A single shot to the head silenced him for good. Rory had Hobson contact Fromansky and pass along a request for a meeting. Fromansky thought he was going to secure his final payment of $250,000. By the final look on his face, hearing the "Thanks for the Hot Pockets" and seeing the barrel of a gun in his face surprised the former cop.

Fromansky was another loose end handled and Rory was sure that Hobson would be handled soon as well. But the man at the crux of his crusade simply was not cooperating.

He had to admit, Grissom could take a beating. The entire evening consisted of taking him from his room, shackling him to the raised hook. Beating him. Taunting him. Beating him again. But he wouldn't admit the truth. Even when Rory used a stun gun to the balls, Grissom wouldn't admit he set-up Rory's brother, Tyler.

And it was pissing Rory off so much. So very much.

Sure, he could see fear overtake Grissom as the prisoner would try to steel himself for a blow that was surely coming. Rory loved to witness Grissom's arms and shoulders tremble with tension.

But the whole ordeal was taxing and frustrating. He wondered if Grissom ever thought about what life would be like if he hadn't made his choices to randomly persecute Tyler. That random choice destroyed Rory's family. Because that's what it was: Grissom's choice. There was no reason to persecute Tyler. He did nothing wrong. He was just trying to provide for his family.

The memory angered Rory, who stood up and furiously flipped over the table where the microwave was set. It bounced off the floor and it's door came off its hinge.

That choice — Grissom's choice — plagued Rory Dunbar since he was 12 years old. Grissom might never have considered how the consequences of his decision affected Tyler's family. His wife. His unborn child. The impressionable, little brother who idolized Tyler. But Rory did.

He needed a new tactic to get Grissom to own up to his destructive, despicable choice. Perhaps the way to do that was to let Grissom witness how one decision could destroy his world.

Rory sat down and outlined his idea in his head. An evil smile fell upon his face. He would gather what he needed and soon the world would see with their own eyes what a terrible man Gil Grissom truly is.

He looked down at Fromansky. The man had seemed to let himself go. He was no longer the thin cop of 10 years past. He was a lot more doughy.

How fortuitous. If a man is going to confess his greatest sin to the world, he should at least be wearing more than boxer shorts.

Before removing the shirt, Rory swiped his hand in the blood pool around the head and wiped some blood on the shirt.

Yet another man's blood sacrificed because of Grissom's choice 29 years ago.

* * *

The smell of stale sweat was strong in the small, enclosed room where Grissom tired to remain as still as possible on the metal cot. His body was wrecked with pain from the beatings he'd endured at Rory's hands. He wasn't completely sure how much time had past, but to his battered body it felt like months. He wasn't sure how much more he could withstand of Rory's punishment.

His back burned, and he could feel fresh blood still seeping from the many lacerations from the whipping he had received. His arms and shoulders ached with a heaviness that became worse each time he was bound while assaulted.

He closed his eyes though sleep evaded him. He allowed his mind to drift, seeking a way to keep his mind off the pain. Memories of Sara flitted in and out of his subconscious:

 _The night Sara had been attacked by Adam Trent was a terrible memory. But the experience changed the direction of their relationship. He remembered some two days later when they at_ _e_ _Chinese take-out at her apartment. He couldn't take his eyes off of the red marks on her neck where Trent held a shard of porcelain at her throat._

" _Glaring is not going to make it go away, Gris." She sounded slightly irritated._

" _It looks sore." He forced himself to continue eating. "Does it hurt much?"_

" _Only when you keep staring at it, and reminding me it's there." She smirked and he knew she wanted to soften the harshness of her words._

" _I'm sorry." It was said so quietly, almost lost in a sigh. And he wondered if she heard him._

 _But then she reached over the breakfast bar and entwined her fingers around his. "I know you care, Gris, and that you're concerned, but I'm fine, really. It looks worse than it is, and it will fade in a few days."_

 _It happened as she was making coffee. He couldn't deny his feelings any longer, and he couldn't wait any longer. He approached her. His eyes searched her face, before settling on the red mark on her throat, as he gently tucked her hair behind her ear. He ran his thumb gently over the mark, and then he kissed her._

 _And she kissed him back._

 _When they finally stopped, they gazed at one another and he wondered if she thought it was a mistake. Then she smiled wide. "Wow, would you look at that? You kissed me and the world didn't end."_

 _Her flushed face. Her perfect lips forming that trademark smile. Her sarcastic sense of humor. He wondered if he would ever see or hear her embody those memories ever again._

"On your feet, you worthless piece of shit!"

Grissom was roughly brought from his wandering thoughts, as Rory entered the room. Rory uncuffed Grissom from the bed. When Grissom moved too slowly for his tormentor's liking, he was slapped repeatedly across the face.

Finally, Grissom's aching body managed to cooperate with Rory's wishes. But Grissom's left knee made him stumble. Rory roughly pulled him up, and threw the shirt at him.

"Put that on. Now!"

Grissom first pulled his head through the extra large polo shirt. His salt and pepper curls were bedraggled with sweat and blood, but Grissom noticed a blood stain not his own across the chest.

"Don't you look cute," Rory said with an evil smile. "Now, move forward!"

Grissom walked the familiar path to what amounted to his own torture chamber. His eyes immediately focused on the shackles and hook, but then he also spied a table with items on it. As he walked closer he saw the stun gun that had already been used on him set on the table, but also a walkie-talkie, a taser, and a camera on a small tripod.

Grissom had no idea what Rory had in store for him. If death was inevitable, then he didn't understand why Rory didn't just kill him off. Secured in his chains once more, Grissom couldn't prevent the moan of pain that escaped his lips as his body was put once again in such a torturous position.

Rory stood back to look at him. There was no smile on his face. There was no fury. There was simply apathy. "Are you ready to talk, Grissom?"

"I … I don't know what you want from me. I can't give you… anything."

The comments garnered Grissom two, hard punches to the gut. "You know _exactly_ what I need from you. _The truth!"_

The punches reined down on him until Grissom finally screamed, " _T_ _yler broke the law!The prostitution, extortion, drug dealing, offering protection to the criminals, Tyler did all that himself!"_

Rory stood back and paced. "No. You're lying. You choose to persecute him. To target him. To ruin him." His pacing increased like a caged animal. " _You_ were the one who brought this on." He lifted up his arms as if to present the room. "All this is because of a choice _you made_ _!"_

He punctuated his point further with a quick hard punch to Grissom's face. Blood trickled from Grissom's mouth and nose. "I remember him, telling my father how he didn't trust you. That you were up to something; he just didn't have enough evidence to prove it. Before he could get the evidence against you, he's the one being investigated! "

"N-no...That's not...what...happened..."

His body tensed as the stun gun, was pressed to his left thigh, the chains chinking, as he's body continued to spasm, afterwards.

"S-stop… please!" Grissom whimpered, his voice tortured. "No...m-more...please! If you want to kill me, than do it! Kill me!"

Rory backhanded him, savagely across his face, his eyes filled with fury. "This ends when I say it does, you thick fuck!" He pressed the stun gun once more against Grissom's thigh.

Grissom screamed in agony, his body shuddering. Tears coursed unchecked down his cheeks.

"I'm….sorry!" he sobbed. "I'm….s-sorry, that...Ty...Tyler...Tyler died."

"Sorry?" Rory questioned, in mock disbelieve. "You're fucking _sorry!"_ Rory screamed in rage. He grabbed Grissom by the throat tightly, choking him. " _Sorry doesn't even_ begin _to cover it, you fucking asshole!"_

Grissom's face turned red as he struggled to breath. Panic set in, as he had no way to defend himself against Rory's punishing grip. He's struggles grew more frantic as his need for air, increased. In that moment, Rory released him, and Grissom gasped, gulping in great lungfuls of air.

Rory circled around Grissom. After three days, he thought Grissom would relent. But apparently he would choose death over telling the truth.

Well, maybe there should be a death. Just not Grissom's.

Seemingly in more control, Rory put the stun gun back down upon the table and picked up the walkie-talkie. "You know, Grissom, you should feel exactly what we felt when Tyler, died. I wonder if _sorry_ would be enough for you if say, oh I don't know, something happened to Sara? Or that cute little boy of yours. Daniel, isn't it?

Weeping, Grissom sucked in air, his face a sickly white. "No. Don't hurt...my- my...family….ple-please!" Grissom begged.

He flinched away, as Rory drew close to him, and Rory smiled triumphantly. Just as Mike Garrett had taken a pregnant Sara to expose Grissom's weakness, Rory was ready to follow suit and follow it to its extreme conclusion. Family was both Grissom's greatest strength and greatest weakness, and Rory had control of that fact.

After a crackle of static, the walkie-talkie spluttered to life. "Sniper, do you copy? Over."

" _10-4, base. I've got the kid in sight now. Over."_

"What's your 20? Over." Rory responded, watching Grissom carefully.

Grissom had lifted his head as best he could as the frightening words of "sniper" and "kid" filled his head.

" _Day care center. I have a clear shot at Daniel. Over."_

Grissom struggled against the chains that held him captive, his heart racing at the mention of Daniel's name. "Please!" he begged, in sobbing gasp. "Please, don't hurt my son! _Oh God, please_!"

Tears coursed down his cheeks, his face contorted with abject fear and distress. Surely, Rory wouldn't go that far?

" _Repeat, I have a clear shot. Over,"_ the voice crackled, sounding tinny over the walkie- talkie.

" _PLEASE!_ " Grissom, beseeched desperately. He sobbed brokenly, his bloodshot eyes, fastened on Rory, pleading. "Don't hurt him! Don't ….don't….please...not Daniel, _please_!"

" _This is down to you_!" Rory yelled, indicating the walkie-talkie. " _You don't want it, then be a man, you son-of-a-bitch and tell the truth!"_

" _STOP_!" Grissom cried desperately, choking back a sob. He swallowed with difficulty. "I set him up!" Grissom gasped, haltingly. He sobbed brokenly, his will to resist completely crushed. "I set...Tyler….I false…." Grissom swallowed heavily. "...it was...my fault..." Grissom's voice trailed off with a gasping sob.

Rory came right into Grissom's face and spoke into the walkie-talkie. "Sniper. Hold your position. Do not yield, do not fire, until you hear my command. Over."

" _Copy that, base. Over."_

"Did you just hear that instruction, Grissom?" Rory said as he clipped the walkie-talkie to his belt. "Now that you admitted the truth, you're going to do it again on record. The slightest hint of retraction of your lie will lead to the death of your son, do you understand me?"

Grissom swallowed a lump in his throat but couldn't answer. He merely nodded "yes."

Rory put a folding chair about four feet from the table. He went behind the camera on its tabletop tripod and looked through the lens. He seemed satisfied with framing.

He undid Grissom's shackles and had him sit in the chair. "Do you understand what will happen if you make one false move, you son-of-a-bitch?"

"I understand."

After putting the taser withinn his reach, Rory went behind the camera and began to record.

"Look directly into the camera and state your full name and age."

"Gilbert A. Grissom. Aged 51 years."

"Explain the reason for this video. What are you freely confessing?"

"I set up Tyler Darrow for corruption and evidence tampering. I lied about what he did."

"When and where?"

"1979, Minnesota."

"And what happened to Tyler?"

"He was sent to jail where he committed suicide."

"And who is responsible for this?"

Grissom closed his eyes. Was he really going to do this? "I am. It is my fault he was jailed and he is dead." Grissom tried to hold in a sob. "I'm sorry."

Rory pulled away from the camera and looked directly at Grissom. "I suppose that will have to do."

Grissom put his head down in exhaustion. But when he heard the telltale sound of the walkie-talkie being pulled out of Rory's belt clip, he's head popped back up.

"Take the shot. Over."

" _NOOO_!" Grissom jumped from his seat to charge at Rory but the man had already grabbed the taser and shot at Grissom. The prisoner fell down in the fetal position on the floor practically unconscious. As he twitched, Rory kicked him repeatedly and viciously until Grissom was indeed unconscious.


	24. Chapter 24

_A/N. I can't take any credit for this chapter. This one is all JellybeanChiChi as she becomes a co-author as well as beta. Awesome!_

* * *

CHAPTER 23

Stanley Hastings — one of the partners of the Jacobsen, Hastings and King law firm — was not too impressed that his colleague brought an audience for their meeting. "This is company business, Wilbur. I don't believe it's appropriate for Ms. Sidle-Grissom to be present."

"I do, Stanley," Jacobsen said as he pulled the chair out so Sara could sit. "If anything, we could use her know how as an investigator. You mentioned something about surveillance for Hobson?"

Hastings sat back in his chair. Sara could clearly tell the seasoned, older man was getting ready to weave a tale. "Wilbur, while you were away out of town, I had some reservations about Nash's travel logs and gasoline expense reports. To me his caseload did not match the enormous amount of expenses and mileage he was incurring. So, I employed a GPS tracker on the car to monitor him. Make sure his travels were business related. I'm sure as hell not going to pay for some lawyer's shenanigans."

The hair stood up on Sara's arms. A GPS tracker could be a lifeline in this case. "Have you checked the tracker's present location?"

Stanley Hastings look none too impressed that Sara was speaking, much less asking a question. "I was just going to get to that, ma'am. The last location was at a less-than-savory establishment on the northwest side of town. We had Ferguson head out there..."

"He's one of our company investigators," Jacobsen quickly explained.

"... and he found the car, but Mr. Nash was not with it," Hastings said. "Ferguson said he went into the motel and the two establishments that were in the general area and, unfortunately, no one had much to say."

 _What a surprise,_ Sara said to herself. _Maybe if I took a stab at interviewing..._

"That's it? That's all we have?" Jacobsen said, angrily.

"I found the car, Wilbur. At this point Hobson Nash could go to hell. As of this moment, he is fired from the firm for insubordination in regards to missing a court date. Of course, we don't have obligation to keep Mr. Nash's cases, although I've assigned most of them, Mr. Grissom excluded. I didn't know if you were interested in that Wilbur..."

"That has already been resolved as Mrs. Grissom has retained me as counsel."

"Well, I was just going to add that our firm have no obligation to keep Grissom as a client," Hastings said, in no way apologetic for such harsh words with Grissom's wife present. "We must remember we have to cut our losses here for the good of the firm. But if that is what you have decided, so be it."

Jacobsen pursed his lips. With a strained, small smile he looked at Sara and spoke measured and calmly. "Sara, would you mind waiting outside for just a moment. I need to speak with my partner. I will be right with you."

"Of course."

As she stood up, both men did the same like the gentlemen they were. She exited the door, sat on the lobby sofa and waited.

A short time later, Jacobsen exited the room and sat down next to Sara. "I want to apologize for what Stanley was saying back there. Sometimes he forgets about the human element in our avocation."

"No offense, but I really don't care about that right now," Sara said. "But that GPS tracker... it's critical we get a hold of it. Can you get it?"

Jacobsen stood up. "I don't see why I can't. What are you thinking?"

Sara stood up. "The fact the investigator found the car and not Hobson gives credence to the theory that Hobson ran off. And if he did, I can only think he knows something, so he might have visited the place where Grissom is."

"My God, if that's true..."

"I think it is," Sara said. "And I don't want to waste time debating it."

"Neither do I. Our highest priority is to find Gil's location," Jacobsen said, leading Sara through the office. "We'll find Ferguson and talk with him. But I'm not sure how quickly we can evaluate the coordinates from the tracker."

"That's why I want to be able to take the information with us, if you don't mind a stop before you take me home," Sara said. "The lab has the ability to map the coordinates, but it's going to take some persuading. They believe Gil's escaped and I'm on suspension."

It was easy to hear the melancholy and anxiety in Sara's voice. Jacobsen knew she needed to know she wasn't alone. "A matter of persuasion. Good thing you've financially locked in the services of a lawyer."

* * *

It was the day shift led by Karson Hess that caught the jailbreak investigation, so Sara wanted to see Karson straight away. While she was willing to go unannounced, Jacobsen convinced her to let him call ahead.

Karson was not opposed to meeting with Jacobsen and even added, "I'm guessing Sara will be with you." He said he would be waiting for them at the visitor's desk.

After getting their visitor tags, Karson, Jacobsen and Sara hurried through the halls of the lab towards her supervisor's office. Sara was fully aware of the disapproving glances from lab techs and a few colleagues. Although it wasn't anything new over the last several weeks, it made her uncomfortable. But she had much more important affairs to deal with for this visit.

Karson gestured for them to enter the office and closed the door behind them. Sara was only slightly surprised to see Nick sitting in front of Karson's desk. They exchanged impassive looks, which felt strange for the longtime friends.

Nick stood up. "Hey Sar."

"Hey Nick."

Immediately recognizing the tension, Jacobsen approached Nick with an outstretched hand. "Wilbur Jacobsen. Acting attorney for the Grissom family."

"Nick Stokes," the young man said as he shook hands. "You're not the lawyer from court."

"No, I'm not," Jacobsen said as he sat down. "Mr. Nash was a member in my firm, but we have lost communication with him as of late, and he is the reason that Sara and I are here today. That and to see if there's been any progress in finding Mr. Grissom, since he is a missing person whose life might be in danger."

Karson and Nick exchanged a quick glance, which Sara immediately spied. "Something has happened. What's going on?"

"Nick went over the investigation notes from the jailbreak and noticed a discrepancy that we need to look at," Karson started. "The name of the source for the prisoner count at one of the prisons wasn't listed, and when we found out who it was... I don't know if you remember a David Fromansky?"

Sara swallowed hard. Of course she remembered that name. How could she forget it. "I don't understand. Why would Fromansky be a source?"

"He's the assistant warden at Southern Nevada Correctional," Nick said, now looking at Sara with sympathy. "And, we also found out the information on the prisoner manifest was incorrect. There was two prisoners from Southern Nevada on the bus, not just one."

"You have the count wrong?" Jacobsen said incredulously. "Was the information given improperly or was it a mistake on the person who gathered the data?"

"We are still trying to sort that out," Karson said. "Our CSI, Karen O'Shea, said that was the information she was given by Fromansky when she called, although she admits that she forgot to list him as the source of the information."

"And what is the story from this assistant warden?"

Karson licked his lips. "We have been unable to reach him. The warden said Fromansky put in for medical leave a few days ago. He is not answering any contact phone numbers," Karson said before turning his own attention to Sara. "There's one more thing. The prisoner who is missing... It's Rory Dunbar."

Sara's vision blurred. She felt like the room was spinning. She put her hand on her mouth and willed herself not to vomit then and there. Jacobsen put a hand on her back and Nick stood up to go to her side. "Sar? You need something? Just breathe, hon."

She brushed Nick's hand away. She closed her eyes and gathered her senses. Taking a deep breath, she asked. "When did you find out this information?"

"Some four hours ago," Karson said.

"Were you even planning on telling me? Or is it just sheer, dumb luck I happened to come by?" Neither man offered an explanation immediately, and Sara didn't want to wait for an answer. "You know what? It doesn't fucking matter. All that matters is Gil." She placed a file folder on Karson's desk. "These are coordinates from a GPS tracker that was on Hobson Nash's car. It needs to be analyzed immediately. As in right now. It might have the location of Gil."

"Sara, I know you're upset..." Karson started.

"Upset? Really? Of course I'm upset. You just told me that two men who hate my husband, including one who helped kidnapped me just over a year ago, are missing and tied to the conspiracy that framed my husband for murder and now has him vanished in thin air. Damn straight I'm upset. And now I would like the lab I have dedicated my life, my blood, my sweat and my tears to do something to save an innocent man's life!"

"It's not that easy," Karson said, his voice rising. "You should know we can't look into GPS tracking without a warrant and probable cause."

"Actually, you can," Jacobsen said. "The car connected to the tracker belongs to the law firm of Jacobsen, Hastings and King, of which I am a partner. I have a copy of the bill of sale and registration for the car in question. Because it belongs to the law firm, I, as a partner, can give legal consent to evaluate the tracker without the need of a warrant."

Jacobsen put the papers on Karson's desk. "And as for probable cause, if the disappearance of my attorney is not enough and the information you provided, which, gentlemen could be construed in court as misdirection and conspiracy by a governmental entity that could lead to a shut down of activities, is not enough, than I will be more than happy to put all this information down into a neat press release for media outlets, which has yet to report on the jailbreak meaning your superiors would hate to see a 5 p.m. report on this."

Karson and Jacobsen held each other's gaze for 30 seconds. Then Karson broke away to address Sara. "You need to know. There might not be any useful information in these coordinates. And even if it does give us his location, that might not do anything to prove him innocent of wrongdoings. I don't want you to have false hope."

Sara sat straighter in her chair. "All I want is a chance. Please."


	25. Chapter 25

_A/N: Awesome beta by Jellybean on this chapter. Thank you as always for the comments/reviews_

* * *

Chapter 24

Awareness returned reluctantly. He'd found respite from the punishing pain in the sea of blackness, and he was reluctant to give it up. For the first time, too long for him to fully remember, he felt a sense of safety in the darkness.

He winced as pain pierced his head like a lightning bolt. An incessant bleeping filled the surrounding darkness. Panic and fear consumed him as unfamiliar voices added to the cacophony of sound. He felt himself unwillingly pulled towards the sound, despite his best efforts to remain in the dark. He fought it because with consciousness came pain and remembrance.

His eyes opened to see an unfamilar room. His chest tightened with anxiety. Hazy shapes loomed over him, and he flinched back despite their reassuring voices and gentle touch because his mind immediately jettisoned to his last conscious memory.

"D-Daniel!"

Grissom's voice sounded tortured with intolerable pain. Two nurses worked to restrain him as he tried to rise from the bed.

"The son-of-a-bitch, killed my son!" he screamed. He made contact with the two nurses and tried to make them understand the dire situation. "The son-of-a-bitch killed Daniel! He shot…. he shot my little boy!" he sobbed, trying to rise from the bed once more.

The heaviness of his arms and the blinding pain in his shoulder hindered much of his moment, but it confused him further why his right wrist wouldn't follow his command. When his left arm had lashed out blindly the nurses restrained him again and guided him to lay back. He never heard the two nurses get the OK to offer the patient a sedative.

"Oh, God! _Daniel_!" His son's name was a mantra on his lips as he willing returned to the dark void of oblivion.

* * *

Sara stared unseeingly out the window of the family waiting room of Desert View Hospital in Pahrump. Alone, she'd given up trying to read the outdated magazines on the coffee table in the center of the room. She stood because she was far too nervous to sit for too long.

Resting her forehead against the glass she closed her eyes, the background noise of the busy hospital fading. The last several hours seemed like a blur. It seemed like a lifetime since she was pushing Daniel in a swing in the park.

She knew it was a risk to even enter CSI under suspension, but it was worth the risk. Once Jacobsen had given her supervisor consent to search the GPS on Hobson's car, Karson had moved swiftly. She, Jacobsen, Karsen and Nick were huddled in the A/V lab deciphering the location. Of them, one that stood out was what seemed to be an abandoned warehouse in Pahrump.

Working with the Nye County Sheriff's Office, Karson arranged to meet up with the authorities if there was a scene to process. While neither Karson nor Nick had shown signs of understanding events pointed towards Grissom being framed, she was glad Karson didn't want Karen or another CSI on the case.

No matter who was working the warehouse, Sara knew she was in for a long wait. Despite Sara having some faith in Karson Hess, Jacobsen had not held the same conviction. Without anyone's knowledge but Sara, he had given the warehouse coordinates to Ferguson, his investigator.

He told Sara the investigator could witness the scene unfold from a distance and update the two of them. "I am just looking out for Gil's best interests," he told Sara.

All Sara looked for was finding Grissom alive.

They did find Grissom in that warehouse. He was in a bad way, unconscious in a side room of the warehouse. Beside him they'd found the shirt-less dead body of the assistant warden David Fromansky. The remains of scattered Hot Pockets, littered the floor, along with an overturned table and microwave with a broken door.

No one else from the bus was at the warehouse, dead or alive. Including Rory Dunbar.

"Mrs Grissom?" a soft voice broke into Sara's thoughts, bringing her back to the present. She pushed away from the window, to face a woman who couldn't be older than her early thirties at most.

"Yes. How is my husband?"

The doctor nodded, with a small genial smile. "I'm Dr. Erin Tanner, and looking after Mr. Grissom, while he's here. He was beaten quite badly, leaving him with several cuts and severe bruising to his face, arms and torso. His nose had been broken and was reset. There are some severe abrasions on both wrists, but fortunately no breaks. He has severely bruised ribs, and is showing signs of a possible concussion. There are over 150 lacerations on his back, but only a few required stitches. There is also evidence of several burn spots on different areas of his body. His left knee is severely swollen. A scan showed some ligment damage, but nothing that would require immediate surgery. We have drained some build-up of fluid to help reduce the swelling and to help make him a little more comfortable."

Sara's face paled as Dr Tanner listed Grissom's injuries. But she knew she had to gather her strength. It would be impossible to believe he would have escaped the past three days without harm. She wanted to be strong to support him as best as she possibly could.

"Can I see him?"

Dr. Tanner glanced at her watch. "When he regained consciousness he was quite agitated and distressed. So we had to sedate him."

"The pain was that bad?" Sara asked as she bit her lip.

"While I have no doubt he has some level of pain, he is on pain medication intravenously," the doctor said. "Actually the nurses heard him say he was extremely distressed about Daniel? Is that your son?"

"Yes. He's our son," Sara answered. When the doctor remained silent, Sara narrowed her eyes. "What about Daniel? Did he ask about him?"

Tanner watched Sara carefully, noticing that while the situation was delicate, Sara wasn't showing any great distress or emotional upset. On the contrary, if anything she showed only unease at the unexpected turn of the conversation.

Knowing there was no easy way of saying it, Tanner went with honesty, sensing that the woman before her would appreciate that more than being coddled. "Your husband had said someone hurt Daniel. Is he OK?"

"Daniel is fine," Sara stated, evenly. "He's with my mother-in-law, Gil's Mom, back in Vegas. I spoke to them both, before coming here. What exactly did Gil say?"

Tanner nodded, a feeling of relief passed over her. "Perhaps you can ask the nurses who were in the room with him. They could answer that question better, but honestly, Mrs. Grissom, his injuries combined with the pain killers he's getting intravenously could have prompted a terrible hallucination. That wouldn't be the first time a patient had had such a reaction."

Although Sara knew the doctor was trying to reassure her, Sara wasn't as convinced of such a theory, especially considering what he had gone through.

As they approached Grissom's room, an alarm sounded and two nurses left the station towards the private room. His room was easy to spot because it was the only one on the floor with an armed guard at the door.

Dr. Tanner glanced quickly at Sara, and in light of what they had just discussed, decided her presence might help rather than hinder. She gently grabbed Sara's elbow and guided her past the armed guard.

Sara stood just to the left of the doorway as the nurses milled around Grissom. On his left was an IV line and heart monitor.

"You have to find him!"

While Grissom's voice sounded weak, it still carried over even the sound of the heart monitor. When he attempted to sit up he uttered a load groan as pain seared through his arms and shoulders. " You need to find my son! He killed my son!"

Sara craned her neck to get a better look at him, and she gasped in shock given the first glimpse of her husband. Through the ghastly pallor of his skin, she could see that his face was swollen and brusied. Both eyes were black, and the skin surrounding them were a deep purple, almost black as well. Around his wrists were gauzed bandages that were soiled with blood as his movement caused his wounds to open.

He struggled and pushed against the doctor and two nurses who attempted in vain to get him to lay back down. But when Grissom caught sight of his wife standing a few feet from the foot of his bed, he froze. The heaviness in his chest increased and his panic overwhelmed him.

He mistook the look of shock on her face for something else entirely. His face crumpled under her scrutiny as tears leaked from his eyes.

"Oh God, Sara! He's gone!" he gasped, his chest rising and falling rapidly as panic held his chest in a vice grip. "H-he killed our little boy! It's all my fault! _It's all my fault_!"

Sara stepped forward but Grissom fell back against his mattress and faced away from her. He was too ashamed to face her.

Dr. Tanner nodded her encouragement to Sara, and then she and the nurses moved towards the back of the room.

Grissom flinched as Sara gently ran her fingers through his grey curls. It was the first time she had been so close to him in more than a month. She noticed he'd both lost weight and appeared to have aged during his imprisonment. She kept her touch light and slow, working to keep the despair she felt at what he'd suffered out of her voice.

"Gil, look at me honey, please." She coaxed him with her voice soft, as her fingers still gently stroked his hair. She continued on in the same gentle reassuring tone, when he refused to look her. "Gil, sweetheart, Daniel's just fine. He's with your mom, back in Vegas."

Grissom shook his head. "It's all my fault! H-he was at d-day care! The sniper said he had a c-clear s-shot!"

"No, baby," Sara continued to soothe gently. "Daniel is safe and well with your mom. I couldn't bring him with me because he wouldn't have been allowed to see you yet. Look at me, and I can show you, baby. Daniel's fine."

Grissom moved his head only slightly, so he could see Sara with only one eye. And Sara's heart broke at the mixed expression of devastation and hope that warred on his face.

"Let me show you, hon. OK. Nothing happened to Daniel, I promise." With what she hoped was a reassuring smile, Sara lifted up her phone for Grissom to see, and dialed Betty's number. After a few rings, Betty's face filled the video screen.

Betty looked at Sara as if she was searching for answers before Sara could comprehend any questions Grissom's mother might sign. She nodded her head and swiped away a tear as Sara gave her a quick update. Then she asked Betty a question, who responded by moving away from the screen.

She returned a short moment later with Daniel in her arms. She placed him in a high chair and set the phone so his face would replace hers on the Facetime screen.

Sara beamed at her son. "Hey, Cricket! Can you say 'Hi' to Daddy?" She turned the phone to face Grissom, just as Daniel, said "Dadada!" and pointed at the screen.

Grissom's chest constricted a moment, before the vice like grip released its painful hold on his chest. Tears ran anew down his bruised face, as he gazed at his son for the first time in almost two months.

" _Daniel,_ " he whispered brokenly.

"He's just fine and with your mom," Sara said, a soft smile on her face.

Grissom took his eyes off the phone for a moment to look at Sara. He swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded to her, confirming that he believed her. Then he returned his attention to Daniel. With a smile, he moved his right hand, as though to touch his son, through the screen.

But he hissed in pain, as he arm was jerked back, and pulled on his arm and shoulders.

The joy of seeing his son was brief as he realized that his right hand was handcuffed to the railing of the bed. It seemed he'd escaped one nightmare, only to be thrust head first into another one.


	26. Chapter 26

_A/N: Another awesome beta by JellybeanChiChi_

* * *

CHAPTER 25

Grissom quickly glanced up from his cuffed hand, his bloodshot eyes trying to see everywhere at once. The relief of discovering Daniel was safe and well quickly vanished. He felt remorse and humilation that Rory had forced him into a false confession, and he felt enraged his hand was cuffed to the bed. That meant they still considered him a prisoner. Even after his horrendous ordeal, the false notion that he killed Jake still loomed over his head.

Sara watched her husband and could feel his body shaking as emotions consumed him. Large beads of sweat gathered on his forehead and hairline, and trickled down the sides of his face. Dread seemed to close his throat to a pinhole, as he struggled to breathe.

"Gil, it's okay, just breathe, baby," Sara soothed.

But his fear and agitation seemed to increase. "It… It's not okay!" Grissom snapped as he turned his bloodshot gaze to Sara. "I need... need to know... Rory… where is Rory?"

"Gil..."

"Don't Gil me. Please… I… I have… to kn-know!" Grissom urged desperately. "Daniel's safe… you showed me… but if Rory is out there… for h-how long is he… he safe? How… how long are you safe?"

Sara's eyes widened. She was so focused on Grissom's condition that she never realized the nightmare they'd gone through the previous year still wasn't over. Initially she thought the armed guard outside her husband's room was there as means of protection. But that wasn't even the case. He was there to make sure Grissom didn't escape.

Even if he was there for protection, deep down Sara knew if Rory wanted to get to Gil, an armed guard wouldn't stop him. He'd already proven that prison couldn't stop him.

It crossed her mind to lie to him, simply to calm his fears, but she quickly dismissed the idea. He'd been through too much already, and keeping the truth from him, however well intended, wasn't the ideal solution.

She his held hand tightly in hers and ran her other hand gently over his forearm. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," Sara answered in a gentle tone. "Rory wasn't at the warehouse when you were found."

Grissom closed his eyes as his chest rose rapidly. His hands were clenched so hard his his knuckles were white. The heart monitor gave a warning beep as his heart rate rose.

"Gil, you have to calm down, honey," Sara attempted to soothe him once more. "Just take a breath, honey."

Grissom shook his head, his face an agony of despair. "H-Hobson. Where is he?!"

"We don't know, honey…"

"He was there t-too! H-he's in on this."

Sara nodded her head. "We used a GPS tracker on his car to find you. We don't know how much, Hobson is involved in this, but…"

"He-He watched…" Grissom's voice broke and drifted off as his face crumpled.

Sara had to swallow a lump in her throat. She didn't want to ask him to continue talking, but she did. "What do you mean? He watched what?"

"He… he watched him… He… watched Rory…" He couldn't say it out loud how the man who was supposed to help watched him be tortured. "He-he's helping Rory..."

"They're working to find him…"

"Don't you get it?!" His frightened tears filled his eyes. "Without him, I-I can't prove that I'm innocent!" He tugged with frustration at his cuffed hand. He bit back a sob. "I-I didn't kill J-Jake and-and Hobson's in on it!"

"I believe you, Gil, and so does Wilbur Jacobsen. He's working on the case now."

Grissom remained doubtful and he shook his head. His features were drawn and pinched, with severe pain. He turned his head slightly as a nurse entered the room. With his head turned, Sara noticed evenly-spaced, finger-like bruises on his throat.

His eyes met her and she pushed away her distress to offer a soft smile. It wasn't his fault that he looked so hurt and in so much pain. It wasn't his fault that people inflicted pain upon him while others watched. It wasn't his fault that someone strangled his neck enough to bruise him.

So her anger needed to be displaced for now.

Sara gave the nurse room to work. "Hi. I'm Sara."

"Hi Sara, I'm Monica. I'm on shift right now. Wrote my name on the board over there," she said as she pointed to a dry erase board by the door. "The doctor prescribed medication to help with pain and sleep so …"

"Can't I stay a little longer?" Sara asked, glancing at her husband reluctant to leave him after the amount of time they'd been separated.

"The medication will help him get to sleep, and that's what he needs," the nurse said sympathetically with a smile. "Don't worry. We'll take good care of him. And you'll be able to visit him again, tomorrow."

Sara sighed and acquiesced. Betty agreed to take Daniel overnight so that Sara could find a room near the hospital to stay over night. She rose to her feet and placed a gentle kiss on Grissom's hair, the one place that she hoped wouldn't hurt him. She gave his hand another gentle squeeze as she whispered, "I love you, baby."

Although the nurse was going to work on the IV, she took a look at the soiled bandages on his wrist. _Those damn cuffs_ , she thought, as she noticed the swelling on his cuffed hand made his injury look more painful.

Although the guard outside the door had the key, she paged the doctor to ask a question of her.

* * *

Once she left Grissom's room, Sara started a to-do list in her head, if anything to get her mind of leaving Gil. She needed to find a place to sleep for the night, which shouldn't be too difficult, and then she need to give Betty an update.

But the top of her list was contacting Jacobsen, and she didn't want until she found a hotel or motel room to do that. With three different family waiting areas on the floors, she was sure she could find an empty space to make a private phone call, so Sara made her way to one of the areas.

When she got to the first area, there was a singular person sitting in a chair. Seeing who it was, she approached him instead of going to another room.

And while a smile formed on his face as she came near, it quickly dissipated when he pushed him hard in the chest.

" _That asshole watched Gil get tortured and did nothing about it!"_ Sara screamed as she once again pushed Wilbur Jacobsen in the chest. " _And it was you who put him on the case! How could you do that?!"_

While Jacobsen was initially caught off guard, he took a slight step back and put his hands up in surrender. "Sara, please. Let's sit down and talk."

Sara was about to push the lawyer again, but stopped herself. Her hand shook as she pulled her arm back and she closed her eyes to concentrate on calming herself.

Once she opened her eyes, Jacobsen met her gaze and nodded his head towards the chairs. They sat in compatible silence until Jacobsen spoke. "Gil mentioned you could take care of yourself. He wasn't kidding."

He offered her a wane smile, which make her face break slightly. "Yeah. Well. I guess I should apologize…"

Jacobsen cut her off. "Not in the least. You have no reason to apologize to me, Sara. You can't be expected to be without any anger. I'm sorry for what Hobson did to Gil and to you. I could never imagine watching one human being beating another, but both you and I know that people are capable of doing unspeakable things in desperate situations… and sometimes not so desperate."

Sara sighed. "Yeah. We do." She stood up and paced for a moment but sat back down when she realized something. "What are you doing here? I was just going to call you but I didn't expect you to come all the way here."

"I was worried about Gil and about you, and I also wanted to get some information from the attending doctor," he said. "How is Gil? I know seeing him is out of the question…"

"They kicked me out of his room for the night. He's not doing well," Sara said, recounting what little Grissom had told her while she was in the room. "He's hurt and really disoriented. He has one hand cuffed to the bed. He knows he's going back to prison, and I'm worried they'll rush him out of here before he's had enough care."

"That's why I wanted to talk with the doctor," Jacobsen said. "After what he's been through prison should not be a consideration. I petitioned for a new bail hearing, which got scheduled in Judge Carrigan's chambers tomorrow. I want the doctor's opinion on his infirmary care at the prison along to evaluate whether his injuries now can be properly cared for in a security facility."

"How can he be safe in any prison?" Sara asked. "Doesn't the breakout prove that he isn't safe anywhere?"

"That and the beatings he suffered in prison…" Jacobsen regretted letting the fact slip, but Sara deserved to know everything that happened. He retrieved a file folder from his briefcase and handed it to Sara. "I'm sorry, Sara. I know you didn't know about everything that happened, but Gil didn't want you to know. This is documentation Hobson collected from the prison — incidence reports and infirmary notes. You're welcome to read them over."

Sara snatched them out of the lawyer's hand before he could change his mind. Her face bore a fresh intensity as she flipped through the pages. She finished, and bit her lip as she closed the file. "At least Hobson did something right by securing this information."

"That's true. But Hobson's disappearance is not acceptable. My private detective is working hard to find him. We're not giving up on that," Jacobsen said, putting a hand on Sara's forearm. "Are you alright?"

She looked at him. "No." She stood up again. "He can't go back to any prison, Mr. Jacobsen."

"Call me Wilbur, please," Jacobsen said as he grabbed his briefcase and stood up. "Would you mind escorting me into ICU so we might find the doctor? I have a feeling they might not say no to you."

Knowing he was making light of her pushing him, she smiled. "If you think it will help."

"I do, Sara. We need all the help we can get so Gil doesn't have to spend another night in jail."

* * *

Fortunately for Sara and Jacobsen, they saw Dr. Tanner almost immediately after being allowed into the intensive care unit. She was standing at the nurses' station speaking with about four staffers, and when one noticed Sara walking down the hall, all of them turned to watch her as she approached.

It scared Sara. Did something happen to Grissom?

"Hi Dr. Tanner," Sara started congenially, trying not to see nervous. "I'm … I don't know if you remember me, but I'm Gil's wife…"

"Of course, Mrs. Grissom. We were actually just talking about your husband."

"Is something wrong? Is he OK?"

"No. We've given him painkillers and a sedative so he is resting," Dr. Tanner said. "I hope you and your friend weren't looking for an opportunity to see him…"

"Actually we were here to see you, myself in particular," Jacobsen said. "My name is Wilbur Jacobsen. I am Mr. Grissom's attorney, and I have a critical judicial consideration tomorrow concerning his case and I was hoping to perhaps bend you ear a bit about his medical condition. It's particularly relative to my argument on his behalf."

Dr. Tanner looked at her watch. "I might have about five minutes to spare. Let's go into the office over here and talk."

The office was a small alcove that had a door, there was a desk and chair for the doctor and one extra for a visitor. Jacobsen pulled out the chair so Sara could sit down. "I don't know if you are totally aware of Mr. Grissom's situation vis a vie law enforcement."

"Well, according to the guard outside his door, Mr. Grissom is a murderer who escaped prison."

"Actually Mr. Grissom is suspected of a crime, but has not be tried and convicted. While I could tell you he did not commit the crime, it is inconsequential because the care you offer would be no different if he was indeed a murderer or not."

Dr. Tanner leaned back. "Do no harm is an important part of my job. Which is why I took off Mr. Grissom's handcuff."

"You did?" The pronouncement surprised Sara.

"It was necessary," Dr. Tanner said. "When he had his episode when he was disoriented and concerned over your son, he yanked his arm so much it did further damage to his wrists. The swelling was considerable and it was actually a bit difficult to get the cuff off."

"The officer allowed you to remove the cuff?" Sara asked.

Dr. Tanner smiled. "My hospital. My rules. If his superior has a problem with it, he can talk with me. But I wasn't going to risk him having another episode and breaking his wrist, causing an infection or even pulling his shoulder out."

"Thank you, doctor," Sara said sincerely. "That means a lot."

"There are other protocols to make sure he doesn't leave his bed, including bed alarms, which we placed under his neck and back," the doctor said. "Besides, with that knee of his, he won't get far if he could even get out of the bed."

"You bring up a concern that I wanted your opinion," Jacobsen said, referring to the folder he had already shown Sara. "In the past six weeks, Mr. Grissom has suffered several incidences from beatings within the prison, the bus accident that caused the breakout — or as I refer to as a kidnapping where he was abused for three days."

Jacobsen handed the doctor the files Hobson secured. "If you could view these and offer an opinion as to whether Mr. Grissom received appropriate care and whether you think the prison system would be able to care for him once he leaves here, I would appreciate it."

The two hospital outsiders kept quiet and patient as Dr. Tanner stopped several times to flip back a page she had already viewed. The notes included what the infirmary technicians offered in prison, but also the transcribed accounts Grissom gave to Hobson about the beatings. Sara noticed how the doctor didn't glance at the notes; she studied them, critically.

She put the papers down, and retrieved a pad and pen for her own notes. "I am going to have further scans done on Mr. Grissom to get a more critical look at his knee and head injuries."

Jacobsen took out a small notebook and pen of his own. "What is your opinion about the infirmary care?"

"Bare minimum," Dr. Tanner said. "No more than an x-ray for an evaluation for a beating that he chronicled… twice. It's actually ludicrous."

"How would you feel discharging him here to the prison environment?"

Dr. Tanner shook her head. "By your account here, Mr. Grissom was a target in prison. He has strangulation marks on his neck, which simply doesn't happen in a bus accident, and when I asked him what happened to his wrists he told me they were shackled above his head for days."

"It's not a clear cut story as the guard might have presented it to be," Jacobsen said.

"Clearly," Dr. Tanner said. "But all that is not my business. The bottom line is the care he receives here is to ensure there is no infection and that he heals properly once he leaves. However, if he simply returns to a violent environment where he incurs more abuse and little care, especially in terms of another head injury or another injury to his leg, he will be in much worse shape than he is now. And that is saying something."


	27. Chapter 27

_A/N. I can't take much credit for this chapter - That distinction has to go to JellybeanChiChi who wrote the majority of this chapter. Much appreciation for all your reviews as always._

* * *

CHAPTER 26

Grissom shifted uncomfortably in his hospital bed. The painkillers he had been given had worn off and he bit back the groan of pain that consumed his entire body. He tried shifting a little on his left side, and was surpised to find out his right hand was no longer handcuffed.

While that observation brought him a moment of relief, movement just outside his door revved up his anxiety. Shadows passed periodically across the odd shaped rectangle of light that streamed in through the half-open door.

With a grimace, he tried to shift into a position that would ease the bone deep ache in his shoulders and arms. His left knee felt stiff, and throbbed and pulsed in time with his heartbeat.

The unexpected sound of fingers tapping on a keyboard startled him and sent his heart rate skyrocketing. Up until that moment, he had believed himself alone in the room.

The shadowy outline loomed in the muted darkness of his room, and panic seized Grissom. He fought for breath as he broke out in a chilling sweat. The alarm of the heart monitor increased in volume, yet went largely ignored.

Dots danced before his eyes. Soon he thought he saw a car's headlights sweep the room, and Grissom had a fleeting glimpse of the prone body of the police officer assigned to guard him. But how could that be? If he was in a hospital, how would he notice a car's headlights?

Then he came to a chilling realization; he wasn't in a hospital room. Grissom tried to swallow, but his throat constricted further as Rory Dunbar approached his bed. "You think a cop is going to stop me, asshole? I'm not finished with you yet, you dumb fuck!"

With gasping, shuddering gasp, Grissom's eyes flew open in a panic, his breathing ragged as his chest rose and fell rapidly. He was drenched in sweat and his heart monitor bleeped shrilly. Grissom looked around in terror expecting to find Rory still in the room. But he was nowhere to be found.

Grissom squeezed his eyes shut and didn't notice a nurse approaching his bed.

"Mr. Grissom," the nurse said. "You're OK. You're having a nightmare. Open your eyes and talk to me."

He shook his head violently. "Leave… Leave me… alone!" he gasped, each word more laboured than the last. "Don't want... Don't touch ...me!" His body trembled in fear.

The nurse, Monica, had been in the room before when he'd awoke convinced his son was shot dead. This time she didn't have the luxury of getting his wife to calm him down. But she hoped her soothing voice and gentle touch might relieve the patient. "Mr. Grissom, try and relax," Monica said. "We're not here to hurt you."

"He- he was...here!" Grissom tried to make her understand. "H-he….killed...the officer!"

"Mr. Grissom, no one has been in your room except the hospital staff and and your wife. She'll be back tomorrow morning to see you," Monica continued to soothe him, as she tried to guide him back against his pillows. He bit his lip, and his fists clenched until the knuckles turned white, against the pain, even her gentle touch on his shoulder ignited.

"You're safe here, Mr. Grissom," Monica continued.

Grissom opened his eyes, a look of confusion masking all his features. He looked at the nurse but had no recollection of who she was. But as she adjusted his medication, his body relaxed and his breathing started to slow and even out. "It … it felt like he …. He was here. I …. It seemed so real."

"It was just a very vivid dream, which is common," Monica said with a smile. "Let the medication work. You should feel a bit more comfortable soon. Try to sleep."

Grissom watched as Monica left his room. _Easier said then done_ , he thought.

With movement still causing too much pain, he gave up trying to find a comfortable position in bed. Instead, he kept an eye on the clock. He knew it was was going to be a very long night.

* * *

With the time close to noon, the Vegas heat was reaching well into the 100s. Thankful to go from his air-conditioned car into the air-conditioned courthouse, Wilbur Jacobsen still felt the heat from the short walk across the parking lot.

He took the elevator to the 12th floor to wait outside Judge Carrigan's chambers. The judge agreed to Jacobsen's request to rehear Grissom's bail request in consideration of his original attorney, Nash Hobson, being missing under suspicious circumstances. He asked both sides be present and prepared for an "efficient" hearing that he could consider during what would normally be a lunchtime recess.

In other words, "Don't dawdle. Lay out the terms succinctly and I will make a decision so I can eat lunch."

Jacobsen was surprised the request was granted, and was certain so was Ladd Sayers, the assistant district attorney who seemed to have a personal vendetta against Grissom. Jacobsen wondered if Sayers would show up himself or send another attorney as a way to protest the unorthodox hearing.

But when Jacobsen stepped off the elevator and strolled down the hall to the chamber doors, Sayers was standing there alone in wait. The sign outside the door read, "Court in session. Please be courteous with conversation," which Jacobsen took as a sign the two would be waiting a short while.

"Hello, Ladd," Jacobsen greeted, genially. Just because they were on opposite sides where Grissom's guilt was concerned, he saw no reason to be discourteous. "I wasn't sure I would see you today."

Ladd Sayers smile was more of smirk. "And miss making sure a guilty man who organised an elaborate jail break goes back to jail? Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Sayers gestured to a set of chairs just down the hall where the two could sit. Jacobsen nodded and the two sat next to each other, save a chair between them.

"I have to say, Wilbur, when I heard your lawyer, Hobson Nash, did a vanishing act along with his client, I felt bad for you. I can only imagine the extra trouble this has caused. Not to mention the damage to the reputations of the people involved."

Sayers leaned in toward Jacobsen. "I got to ask, Wilbur. After Hobson skipped town, why the hell didn't you just dump Grissom? This is a slam dunk case for me, but a loss to you could really do damage you to."

Wilbur smiled, tightly. "I'm representing Gil Grissom because he deserves fair and honest reputation, especially since you are on a smear campaign to ruin my client's reputation. And I think the case against him is no where near a slam dunk for you."

Sayer's smug expression faded slightly. Jacobsen had a formidable reputation in the courtroom. His taking over from Hobson meant Sayers had a challenge on his hands. He pulled back to sit straight up and pressed down his suit, turning his attention to his sleeve, and brushing off imaginary lint. "Well, Wilbur, as his new counsel you should be aware I will be charging Grissom with further charges."

Now Jacobsen was caught off guard. "What further charges could be relevent in the Sullivan case?"

"I'm talking about the jailbreak and the murder of a prison official found on site where Grissom was."

Jacobsen let out a frustrated laugh. Nothing was funny about the situation, in fact this suggestion was beyond frustrating. "Have you even seen the results of what the sheriff's office and CSI has prepared from the scene?"

"I'm seen enough for right now," Sayers said. "Grissom has shown no remorse over Jake Sullivan from the very beginning, Wilbur. And now he broke out of prison. Even you have to agree his actions aren't gaining him any support. Hell, even Hobson is convinced he's guilty.

"This is ludicrous," Jacobsen said, anger evident in his voice. "First of all, how could you even believe he had any control about what happened in terms of the bus ride from his prison to another?"

"Grissom didn't do this alone, but right now, I'm willing to settle for him."

"He was targeted by Rory Dunbar. You do remember him, don't you Ladd?" Jacobsen said. "Grissom was the victim, not the perpetrator."

"That is yet to be seen."

Seeing the smugness return brought out the debater in Jacobsen. He knew the two would be entering the court soon, but Sayers would not get the last word on this one. And there was a particular comment the assistant district attorney made that didn't sit well. "What do you mean when you said even Hobson thought he was guilty?"

"When did I say that?"

"Thirty second ago. Are you saying you heard Hobson say that?"

Sayers stammered for a moment. "It just seemed that way to me. I haven't gotten in the position I am in, Wilbur, without a keen sense of what people are thinking."

Wilbur's eyes sparkled with the thrill of a good debate. "Adding further charges to something Grissom had no control over is just ludicrous, but I can't say I'm surprised. This is all about showmanship, isn't it, Ladd? I've read the transcript of the first bail hearing. Hobson did a poor job on his part, but you took that to a new level when you railroaded Judge Carrigan into adjudicating a remand sentence. And for what? To further your political advancement? Gil Grissom is a man of justice and integrity, not a political bargaining chip."

Sayers shook his head. "You're willing to stake your professional reputation on him? On this case?" Sayers asked, a hint of disbelief in his tone.

"Yes," Jacobsen remained resolute. "At least I can say that my motivation is to seek justice; that a man is innocent until proven guilty. Can you say the same?" he continued. "Given what he has already suffered, if he is incarcerated again, he might not survive long enough for your precious day in court. And then where will your precious political drive be then?"

"And you say you're not politically motivated, nor is Grissom a bargaining chip," Ladd chuckled without humor.

"I'm just looking out for my client's best interests," the older lawyer maintained. "There has been precious little of that over that last two months or so. He was never a flight risk to begin with, and you damn well know it."

The glint in Jacobsen's watery blue eyes, twinkled dangerously, and he allowed a smirk to touch the corners of his mouth. "An act of compassion now, may actually aide your campaign. But either way, Ladd, you have my word, that I intend to get my client bail."

Just then, the doors of the chambers opened and people began to filter out. Once it was empty, a bailiff looked down the hall at the two lawyers, who took the cue to approach the chambers. "Gentleman, Judge Carrigan asked to be given five minutes or so. But you are welcome to sit in the courtroom."

The two men entered and took their places at their respective tables a short distance from the judge's chair. As they waited, they sat in absolute silence with their gazes straight ahead.

* * *

"All rise."

The only people in the room were the two lawyers, a court transcriber and two bailiffs, but they all did as the bailiff asked while Judge Carrigan came in from a door from behind his chair and took a seat. "Be seated. This is a bail rehearing for Gilbert A. Grissom, on the count of murder in the first. Is the defendant present?"

Jacobsen stood up. "Wilbur Jacobsen for the defense. Mr. Grissom is not here, your honor. He is currently in the intensive care unit of Desert View Hospital in Pahrump following a bus accident and subsequent kidnapping."

Sayers quickly stood up. "Your honor, that is incorrect. It should be noted he is hospitalized following a bus accident as a result of a jail break."

"While there is a difference between the two distinctions, I don't think we need to get into the semantics of that particular point for this particular hearing, gentlemen. Mr. Jacobsen, please state the reason for having this rehearing."

"I would like to outline two points, your honor. First is the conduct of Mr. Grissom's original attorney, Hobson Nash. It has come to our firm's attention that Mr. Nash conducted himself improperly and perhaps criminally while representing Mr. Grissom. Mr. Nash did not offer appropriate protocol during his bail hearing, and we believe he knew of and participated in malfeasance while Mr. Grissom was behind bars. …"

"Malfeseance," Sayers said loudly to cut off Jacobsen. "Now if anyone exemplifies that word, it is Gil Grissom."

"As I was saying, your honor, while his short stint in prison, Mr. Grissom suffered several severe beatings, two of which put him in the infirmary. …"

"If a man serving as supervisor of the Crime Scene Investigation Unit can sleep with an employee against Crime Lab policy, and get her pregnant, it's quite clear that he thinks that the rules don't apply to him. That's why he is working so hard to get away with murder."

"Mr. Grissom is a devoted husband and father who has been targeted by a very well connected man who not only made sure his nephew would pummel Mr. Grissom while in prison, but also organized an elaborate scheme to escape from prison so he could kidnap and torture Mr. Grissom."

Sayers laughed. "Phantom facts to save face over the lackluster effort Hobson Nash has done."

The judge put up a hand, effectively stopping anymore talking. He looked at Jacobsen. "Who is this well-connected man you are talking about?"

"You're familiar with him, your honor. Rory Dunbar."

The judge's lips pursed ever so slightly. "I realize this is a bail hearing and not a trial, but a statement such as that must have merit, counsel."

"It does, your honor," Jacobsen said. "In my brief, you will see that Tait Darrow who is the nephew of Rory Dunbar, almost immediately targeted my client in prison, a prison that we recently learned Mr. Nash secured for transport after turning down another facility. During a transport to another prison, a prisoner manifest had been at first modified not to include Rory Dunbar as a passenger. Mr. Dunbar blames Mr. Grissom for both his own incarceration and that of his older brother from decades ago."

As the judge perused the pages, Jacobsen continued. "This comes to my second point for the bailing hearing, which directly speaks about Mr. Grissom's personal safety. It has been compromised over and over in the past two months to the point that he is intensive care. His hospital physician has looked at the care he received in the prison infirmary versus the severity of his injuries and concluded he would not fare well if there is another attack, especially one targeting his head or leg. Despite the argument of guilt vesus innocence, any defendant should be guaranteed a modicum of safety behind bars. But Grissom was a target of prisoners, lawyers and quite possibly prison officials themselves."

"Your honor," Sayers said with frustration. "This is a needless hearing. You ruled already on his bail, and it was the most appropriate judgment. While Mr. Jacobsen might say, 'The poor man has suffered enough,' I say, 'What about what Jake Sullivan? What about what he suffered?'" demanded Sayers. "We've heard about about how much poor Mr. Grissom has gone through, yet no one has yet shown any regard for Jake Sullivan. What he must have gone through, as he fought for every breath? The coroner's report says that he lived for several minutes after the attack, before he succumbed to his injuries. The terror he must have felt when he realized that he was dying."

"Mr. Sayers is quite passionate, as he should be for the victim. I respect that because I do care about what Jake Sullivan suffered," Jacobsen said. "But Mr. Sayers and his office are targeting the wrong man. "

"We are talking about a murder that was calculated and cold-blooded," Sayers said.

"And committed by someone other than Gil Grissom," Jacobsen continued. "The evidence against Mr. Grissom is circumstantial, but even more so, recent events should reveal that if Rory Dunbar, a man who is already in prison, could manipulate our justice system in such a way that he can stage an elaborate jail break so he could kipnap Mr. Grissom while he is a prisoner and hold him for three days, isn't it reasonable to assume that Mr. Grissom is being framed for the murder that put him in the vulnerable position within the prison?

"There is absolutely no evidence that Grissom was kidnapped and tortured, your honor," Sayers muttered.

"No? Not his extensive injuries that include a broken nose, torn ligaments and a head injury, among others?"

"All that could have happened in a bus accident."

"OK," Jacobsen said. "But what about the shackle marks on his wrists? How about the stun gun burns on his body, including his genitals? And let's not forget the strangulation marks on his neck. Do those things happen in bus accidents?"

Again, the judge put up his hand, but kept his eyes on the papers in front of him.

"You have the hospital physician on record stating Mr. Grissom received the, quote, bare minimum in terms of treatment for his injuries?"

"That's correct, your honor, and she added that if he would return to prison, his health would be further compromised."

"Even in the infirmary setting?"

"She was skeptical of the treatment he had received there."

"Mr. Jacobsen, is the hospital physician willing to go on record to attest to the severity of Mr. Grissom's injuries and evaluate a specific time for convolescence?"

"In my brief she offers a rough estimate of time, and yes, she would go on record."

Judge Carrigan took a moment. "Mr. Sayers, I understand your concern and you are correct in stating his hearing is unorthodox, but I must add that so are the circumstances surrounding it."

"Your honor, I must make a formal protest if the terms of Mr. Grissom's bail is changed. The court here had already made a decision and it should be final."

"While I am hesitant to keep the bail set at remand, I am not willing to release Mr. Grissom on his own recognizance, as I am sure Mr. Jacobsen hopes," Judge Carrigan said. "But I cannot, in good conscience, ignore the severity of Mr. Grissom's injuries."

"Your honor, please," Sayer started. "This could create a slippery slope for prisoners who might hurt themselves in order to get their bail changed."

"Not so fast, Mr. Sayers. Let me finish," the judge said. "The severity of Mr. Grissom's injuries coupled with the unusual circumstances of beatings within the prison and outside the prison is why I cannot in good conscience ignore this situation." He wrote a few notes and then looked up to speak. "As such, my ruling is as followed. Mr. Grissom will be granted three weeks at home in order to recover from his injuries. During that time he will submit to 24-hour surveillance through an electronic surveillance ankle bracelet. You two attorneys can debate the restrictions on where Mr. Grissom might travel, taking into account physician and hospital visits. Once given a go ahead from his physician, Mr. Grissom will return to prison."

The judge hit the gavel, effectively ending the session. While neither man was completely satisfied, Jacobsen felt a touch of relief. They had time not only for Grissom to heal but also to prove Grissom's innocence.

Sayers turned to leave, but not without a jab at Jacobsen. "Doesn't make a damn difference what happened here. My case is still a slam dunk."

Jacobsen smirked but let Sayers have the last word.

This time.


	28. Chapter 28

CHAPTER 27

Grissom stared with disinterest at the breakfast tray that had been placed in front of him. He shifted uncomfortably in his hospital bed. His body still felt like a mass of pain, despite the painkillers that he'd received. Nothing seemed to help that dull throbbing of his knee, the swelling of the welts on his back or the pounding headaches that plagued him.

Nearing the end of her nursing shift, Monica Harris had good news to share with a patient who needed good news. She gave a faux salute to the guard at the door before she entered.

"Good morning, Mr. Grissom," she said cheerily.

Grissom looked up but didn't muster a greeting. The pain and frustration and uncertainty he felt made reciprocating a good mood an impossibility.

His mood and lack of greeting didn't surprise Monica. She came to the top of his bed at the right hand side. "I know you're still in a lot of pain, but I do have some good news, Mr. Grissom," she commented as she glanced at his notes. "Dr. Tanner signed off for you to move out of intensive care. We're going to get you to the third floor this morning. Before that, she'll probably want to have a chat with you."

This time he mustered up a nod. "Will Sara be here? My wife?"

The reply made Monica smile. "I hope she will." She noticed his breakfast tray. "You've not eaten very much. Would you like something different?"

"I'm not hungry," Grissom mumbled, turning his head slightly and refusing to look at her. He silently wished she would just leave him alone.

"OK. I'm not going to force anything," Monica replied as she did some routine checks. "One last thing before I leave. I need to record your pain level. Can you give a number for me? 1 is good and 10 is the worst."

He bit his upper lip. He'd not slept well the previous night, with both the pain and nightmares of Rory looming over him. He'd woken gasping for breath, and soaked in sweat. The anxiety of returning to prison was constant. He knew he wouldn't survive if he was targeted again. "I hurt. I just… I just hurt."

"I understand, and I know the question might seem useless, but it helps with monitoring your pain medication," Monica soothed. "Try to give me a number."

"I … I don't know. It just…"

"Hurts… Just try to express how much."

"How much?" Grissom snapped harshly as he glared furiously at the nurse, as if blaming her for the source of his ill mood. Despite the groan of pain that accompanied his grand gesture, he swept his left arm across the table sending its contents clattering to the floor.

The commotion didn't frighten Monica, but the officer posted outside his room rushed into the room.

"Are you alright?" the officer asked of the nurse, who had remained in her spot by the top right of the bed.

"I'm fine," Monica nodded, knowing the guard's intrusion would just make matters worse. "Thank you for your concern for us, officer, but we're fine."

Despite being called off by the nurse, the officer directly addressed the patient. "Any more of this, Grissom and you'll find the handcuffs can just as easily return, as they can be taken off."

"Officer, if you don't mind, we have it from here." Monica's voice was stern.

The officer left, but not until he gave Grissom one more glare — one that Grissom reciprocated. But once he left, Grissom's face fell. He felt remorse for what happened, but just couldn't stomach the urge to apologize.

The nurse for her part, returned to her notes and gathered up her things to leave. "Dr. Tanner will be around soon, Mr. Grissom. Try and rest."

She turned to leave, but before she reached the door she heard a timid, single word. "Eight."

When Monica turned to look back at Grissom, she immediately saw him cast his eyes downward. Despite that, Monica went to the dry erase board and wrote the time and the number uttered. "Thank you," she said kindly before quietly leaving the room.

* * *

Dr. Tanner was at the nurses station checking over some notes, when Sara was allowed into the intensive care ward, an hour and half later.

"Mrs. Grissom, I was hoping that I might catch you before I spoke with your husband. Could you spare a few minutes?"

"Is Gil okay?"

Dr. Tanner smiled and shook her head. "I assure you, he's getting all the care that he needs. I just wanted to speak with you in my office for a few minutes."

Tanner led Sara to the same small office she used to speak with her and Jacobsen two days prior. Sara took the seat that Tanner indicated, wondering what it was that the doctor wanted to discuss. She hoped they weren't discharging Grissom back to prison already. She was still waiting to hear back from Jacobsen. They were meeting just after lunch and she hoped he'd have some good news.

"Don't look so worried, Mrs. Grissom." Tanner's voice broke Sara's thoughts, who didn't even realize she'd allowed her mind to wander.

"Sorry. Habit these days."

"I understand," Dr. Tanner said. "First, some good news. I'm satisfied Mr. Grissom is well enough to be moved from intensive care to a standard room on the third floor. We're actually moving him in a few minutes, but before we do, I'd like to have a chat with him, and examine him. When I do, I'd like for you to be there. His nurses have commented that your presence soothes him, even calms him."

Sara's ears pricked at the news. "Isn't that a natural reaction after everything he's been through?" Sara questioned. "That some one that he's familiar with..."

Tanner nodded. "Yes. You are correct. However, it also makes him a little unpredictable. This morning at breakfast, there was a minor incident. Your husband became quite agitated and set his breakfast tray flying across the room. The officer posted on his door, felt the need to intervene."

Sara's eyes widened in shock. "Doctor, I know all this looks terrible but, please know, Gil is not a violent man," Sara began, but Tanner held up a hand, cutting her off.

"What needs to be understood, is that your husband has been through a terrible ordeal. That much is clear. He's suffering from a concussion that was quite possibly exacerbated by the minimum care he received while he was in prison and coupled with the further injury from the bus accident and the subsequent beatings he endured. Have you heard anything about where he might be sent after discharged from this hospital?"

"I am hoping his lawyer tells us that today," Sara said. "I just don't know…"

Dr. Tanner could see worry etched in Sara's face and the weight of the world on the woman's shoulders. "I hope you find some resolution soon. I can only imagine what you're feeling."

Sara nodded. She didn't want to focus on herself. "As far as Gil is concerned, do you think that incident this morning was just an isolated incident?"

The doctor stood from her chair and took a seat on her desk next to Sara. "There was clearly some delay in treatment, which makes it possible that the treatment he's receiving now may take longer. I can't say for certain whether that was a one time occurrence or not. But it is most likely that while he heals he will be prone to mood swings. They are quite normal under the circumstances, but their severity and timing could be unpredictable. I believe with rest and adequate pain relief, he will make a full recovery in time."

"But it will take time," Sara added.

"Yes," Dr. Tanner said as she glanced at her watch. "Let's get to his room so we can get him upstairs."

* * *

Once they entered his room, Sara hurried to Grissom's side. She kissed him gently on the forehead in greeting, a gentle smile on her face as she took the seat next to his bed. She grasp his hand in hers, reassuringly, but he didn't return the gesture.

His face was sallow and marked with exhaustion and pain, but the swelling in his face had reduced some. The pallid hue of his face made the bruises seem darker than they had been. His broken nose still looked quite painful, and Sara noticed that he favoured his left arm and shoulder more than the right. He looked uncomfortable and miserable. She truly hoped during the meeting with Wilbur in a few hours Grissom would hear some good news.

He needed good news. They both did.

"You mother and Daniel say hello and they miss you," Sara said, the fingers of her other hand, brushing lightly on his forearm.

Sadness in his eyes, Grissom turned away. His lips narrowed in a thin line and he remained silent.

"Well, you're moving to the next step Mr. Grissom," Tanner said, as she approached the bed. "But before we move you, I'd like to do a quick examination of your knee, Mr. Grissom."

Sara felt Grissom tense, before he relaxed slightly as Dr. Tanner carefully pulled back the covers. The bruising on the left knee was evident, but the severe swelling had reduced.

Satisfied, Tanner nodded. "You've really been tough on those knees of yours," she mused.

Grissom huffed humourlessly at Tanner's choice of words, as he thought back on the times that other people had managed to hurt his knees at one time or another. Mike Garrett had set the trend. During a desperate fight with Garrett while rescuing Sara, Grissom landed heavily on the knee. In prison, he'd been forced to his knees while being half drowned, tripped numerous times and beaten up. While being restrained by guards after his fight with Tait, he'd been forced to his knees. And of course there was the moment he was tossed around in a bus crash.

He wasn't tough on his knees; the universe was.

But he didn't voice any of that. He simply let the doctor drone on.

"Once the swelling has gone down a little more, I'd recommend a brace to help stabilize the knee. I wish circumstances would allow for rehabilitation..."

Grissom finally spoke. "In prison?" Grissom glared defiantly at the doctor for the first time maintaining eye contact with her.

"As I said, I wish the circumstances were different," Dr. Tanner said, her voice stern but compassionate. "But I see no reason you cannot be fitted for a brace. I can personally make sure no matter where you are, that will be a reality, Mr. Grissom. Despite what you might think, I do want to make sure you are not suffering from too much pain and you have treatment that will prevent further injury."

Grissom shook his head in such a way it seemed to create more pain than help him get a point across. A voice inside his head kept telling him how no one cared about him and his pain would only get worse.

This was the unpredictable mood swing the doctor spoke about. Sara gently tried to coax Grissom out of his mood. "Gil, please. We need to take this one day at a time."

Grissom, shook her hand loose off his arm, with a hiss of pain, as he jerked his shoulder. "It's not that easy, Sara!" As he snapped at her, his face drained of even more colour, if that were possible. "I'll be back in prison, so nothing is going to help."

"We don't know that yet," Sara tried to soothe him. "Wilbur had a meeting with Judge Carrigan yesterday. He's coming by this afternoon, and wants to discuss a few things with you. He's hopeful that you won't be going back to prison."

For a moment, Grissom raised his head and saw both women offering sympathetic, honest looks. He so wished he could believe them.

A knock at the door let the trio know the CNAs were ready to move him. Sara rose to her feet and both she and the doctor moved out of the way.

Dr. Tanner put her hand on Grissom's good shoulder. "Good luck, Mr. Grissom. I mean that. Good luck."

Grissom looked up at her and nodded weakly. She knew that was the best he could do as far as thanking the doctor for her support.

But that wasn't true for Sara, who caught the doctor's arm and kept her in the room while Grissom was wheeled out.

"Doctor, he's not like this. He's a kind man. I'm sorry for the way he's acting," Sara said, trying to hold back her tears. "You all have been so wonderful to him and I don't know how to thank you."

Dr. Tanner put her hand on Sara's. "Don't apologize for him. I understand. We all do. We're not here for accolades. We just want the patients to get better. But thank you, Sara, for your kind words. And I have a feeling your husband would be offering thanks too, if his heart, body and mind weren't in so much pain."

Sara nodded. "He would."

"Between you and me, rehab is truly important for him. It could help him because there is a chance he could do worse damage to his leg," Dr. Tanner said. "But just like you said—one day at a time."

Those words weighed heavily on Sara's already burdened mind.

Knowing that, Dr. Tanner offered a kind smile. "Go catch up with him. Your presence will make things better."

* * *

Sara paced the foyer of Desert View Hospital as she waited for Wilbur. She sipped on the mango smoothie she'd gotten from the cafeteria, as her anxiety grew. She wasn't sure how she and Grissom could face any more bad news.

When she spotted his tall form pass through the sliding doors of the hospital entrance, he hurried to meet him. He smiled at her warmly as he patted her hands affectionately.

"How is Gil doing? I'm sure you're both anxious for some news."

"We are," Sara said. "I'll catch you up as we go upstairs."

* * *

Sara spoke about Grissom's condition and anxiety the whole way to the room. But once she saw the armed guard standing sentry outside Grissom's room, she paused in the corridor. Wilbur watched as Sara seemed to gather herself as she prepared to enter her husband's room. He placed his hand on her shoulder.

"You're not alone. We're in this together, my dear," he reassured her, in a low voice.

Sara nodded slightly, as she offered him a quick glance. Taking a deep breath, they both headed towards Grissom's room.

Sara was quick to note the alarm that flashed across her husband's face as they stepped into his room, his breath catching in his throat. He relaxed when he realized that it was Sara and Wilbur.

Sara immediately went to his side, grasping his hand, careful of the IV line, and gently brushed her lips against his hair, before setting down into the chair beside his bed.

Wilbur remained standing by the foot of the bed, shocked by the severity of the injuries that Grissom had sustained. If these were the visible injuries, he could only imagine the ones that he couldn't see. It was clear Grissom would have a long road of recovery ahead of him.

"I wish we were meeting under much better conditions than theses, Gil," Wilbur greeted him. "How are you feeling?"

It was clear that Grissom wasn't in the mood for visitors. Agitation showed in the way his eyes darted around the room, and the fingers of his right hand tapped on the bars of the bed railing. Although Sara had taken his left hand in hers, he didn't squeeze his hand in hers.

"I feel like I've had the shit beaten out of me," Grissom rasped harshly, refusing to look either of them in the eye. "How am I supposed to feel?"

Sara hated his harsh tone, but said nothing. It wasn't as if he hadn't spoke the truth, after all. He'd been to hell and back, and no one could blame him for his less than stellar attitude.

Wilbur seemed to have the same thought as Sara, as he smiled tolerantly at Grissom. "I apologize if my question upset you, Gil. I sincerely hope that you feel much better soon and I know this ordeal has been utter hell." He paused a moment, before slowly coming to stand at the foot of the bed, and Grissom immediately tensed, beads of sweat breaking out along his hairline.

Grissom fought to keep his breathing under control as Sara tried to soothe him, with both touch and voice.

"Gil, I know your trust in everything you hold dear is tarnished, but I'm here to assure you your safety has been one of our highest priorities. Can you believe me when I say that?"

He looked at his client who seemed adamant not to offer any semblance of cooperation. Sara spoke about his attitude on the walk up, so Wilbur was prepared. And while it is not the way he had known Grissom to act in the past, this was the situation here and now. His job was to offer his client hope.

"Gil, I had a meeting with assistant D.A. Ladd Sayers and Judge Carrigan, who presided over your bail hearing. Sayers was less than enthused to hear the judge offered to listen to our arguments on a bail hearing again, but, unfortunately the judge would not release you on your own recognizance as we hoped." Both Grissom and Sara's faces fell at the news that bail hadn't been granted. "But please, let me finish. It's not all bad news."

Jacobsen looked behind him and saw another chair. He grabbed it and sat near the bed so he could speak to the couple while at eye level. "Gil, the judge is allowing you to return home for three weeks to recover from your injuries."

That news brought a smile to Sara's face, but Grissom still seemed stone faced. Jacobsen didn't know if that was because of shock or because of something deeper emotionally or mentally, but he kept talking. "As part of the agreement, you're restricted on where you can travel and you will be mandated to wear an electronic ankle bracelet. You will be able to travel to the hospital and doctor appointments, and if you both develop a list of other critical locations, I can petition the judge about them. He seems very open to this arrangement."

"It might be good to have Gil's mother's house on the list," Sara said. "I can make a list. This is good news, Mr. Jacobsen."

The lawyer smiled. "Wilbur is fine, Sara. And a list would be great, thank you."

"What happens after three weeks?" Grissom's voice was low but reflected an air of worry and scepticism.

Jacobsen sighed. "At that point you would have to return to prison."

Grissom glanced at Sara worriedly and then at Jacobson.

"I c-can't go back to prison, Wilbur," Grissom's panic returned. "If I go back….they'll...they'll k-kill me.."

"Gil, trust me," Wilbur soothed gently, as he sat carefully on the bed. "My firm's investigator is working to find Hobson. And I truly believe Ferguson will find him. Three weeks is more than enough time to clear you of Jake's murder and find the real culprit."

"Y-you can't guarantee t-that!" Grissom insisted, with a frown.

"Gil, there is no way you are going to set another foot in prison."

Grissom huffed with annoyance, and glared with bloodshot eyes at the lawyer. "That's what Hobson said, and this is where it got me!" Grissom voice rasped. "I didn't kill Jake, but the evidence against me is solid. Even if this Ferguson finds Hobson, he's not going to roll over on Rory. I'm still going back to prison."

Grissom's eyes squeezed tightly shut, as he waited for a blow he was sure would come. He bit his lip and fought against the tightness in his chest. As his hands clenched into fits, his knuckles turned white. Dread gripped him in a vice grip, and threatened to overwhelm him.

Sara and Wilbur stood on either side of him. Jacobsen set a calming hand upon Grissom's good, right shoulder. Sara grabbed his left hand though he refused to unclench his fist. She settled for keeping her voice gentle and soothing, as she ran her hand over his lower arm gently.

"Gil, honey, it's okay," Sara did her best to reassure and calm him. "Just breathe, sweetheart. Gil, baby, you can trust him. He's done much more for you in the last couple of days than that asshole Hobson has in two months."

"Gil, the last thing I wish to cause you is any further distress. You have my word that I _will_ do my best to clear all this up," Jacobsen said. "Gil, please look up at me. Please. For Sara. She's worried sick about you."

The mention of Sara's hardship did the trick and Grissom calmed down. He finally opened his eyes, looking first at his wife before reluctantly taking his eyes away from her to look at Jacobsen.

The effort made the lawyer smile, his eyes crinkling. "Gil, do you trust me? Maybe a better question is, do you believe me when I say that I have your best interests in mind? I realize after all Hobson did to you that is a lot to ask."

The silence stretched for several minutes as Grissom sat quietly. He gave Wilbur's question serious consideration. If he'd been asked that question three or four months previously, he would have answered in the positive in an instant. Hobson Nash had ended that.

Grissom glanced quickly between Sara and the lawyer. Sara smiled encouragingly and nodded her head. "Honey, I've seen first hand what Wilbur is prepared to do for you, for _us_."

Grissom glanced back at Wilbur, and then nodded. "I trust you."

Jacobsen was unsure if Grissom truly had trust in him or if he answered that question in the affirmative out of exhaustion and to appease his wife. Either way, Wilbur saw it as a victory and smiled. "Thank you, my friend. Once you're discharged and a chance to rest at home, we can go into a lot more details than we can here."

"H-home?" Grissom questioned, his breathing still ragged, but the worst of the panic attack seeming to be behind him for now. "W-what makes you think that I-I'll be any safer at home, with Rory still out there! Or S-Sara and Daniel! I-I couldn't defend myself i-i-in prison….and I-I sure as hell, c-can't defend myself, l-let alone….S-Sara and D-Daniel!"

"You're right, Gil, absolutely right," Jacobsen said. "My next stop is to speak with the sheriff and make sure something is done. If they can't do it, then I will make sure the firm secures private detail."

"We…we can't afford t-t-that… my job…"

Jacobsen gave Grissom's right arm a gentle squeeze. "Your job is to heal. Mine is to keep you and your family safe. Sara's safety is just as important as yours and seeing as your son was the one who hired me, he's pretty damn important too."

That line put a confused look upon Grissom's face. "My son hired you?"

"He's a sweet boy. Sara should tell you that story," the lawyer said as he stood up. "Unless you two have any other questions, I'm going to head back to Vegas."

Sara went to stand, but Jacobsen stopped her cordially. "Don't get up, Sara. Stay with Gil. I know the way out."

"OK, Wilbur. Thank you."

"My pleasure."

Jacobsen left the room with a smile, but it quickly left his face as he made his way to the elevator. Grissom's condition, attitude and agitation worried him. His client was unwell, and he couldn't help but feel responsible in some way for it.

He knew he needed to tell Grissom about Sayers' plan to press more charges, but neither husband nor wife were in any shape to hear that. And if Jacobsen had any say, there would be no charges to speak of.

Once outside the hospital, the lawyer took out his cell phone and pushed a number on speed dial. After hearing the connection made, he made no effort to disguise the urgency in his voice. "Ferguson. I need an update right now on your efforts. Whatever it takes, I want Hobson found in a week's time."


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 28

Karson rubbed a weary hand across his face as he stared at the crime scene photos and evidence he'd gathered from the warehouse where Grissom had been held. As a seasoned CSI, he'd seen what the deprived nature of what men could do to other men. But that realization had hit him differently this time because he knew the victim. And no one deserved to go through what Gil Grissom had endured.

Once the warehouse was identified, Karson immediately decided he wanted to be on the scene as soon as possible and be the only CSI to process the warehouse, if it was indeed were Grissom was held. When he got to the scene, police had yet to enter the warehouse, even though they had been on the scene for at least half an hour. They wanted to wait for SWAT to join the officers on scene to make an entrance.

When the authorities finally did enter, they had the place cleared in 90 seconds, leading Karson to receive the get-go to enter. He saw Grissom before anyone had attended to him, and at first sight, he'd assumed Grissom had died from his injuries. He had looked swollen, bloodied and bruised, the large shirt splattered with blood. His unconscious body was lain beside another body, clearly deceased courtesy of the large bullet hole in his head.

"That one's dead, this one's alive," a SWAT member told Karson. At the moment of seeing Grissom on the floor, Karson thought of Sara and Daniel. No doubt, they would feel his loss most keenly. Realizing Grissom was still alive had been an unexpected, but pleasant surprise. The man was a fighter, that was for sure. And he had plenty to fight for.

Karson uttered a tired sigh, and moved his shoulders to try and relieve the deep ache that had settled there. He'd been working on this for four days, and his eyes were starting to blur. The idea of taking a break – even for just few minutes - was a welcome one.

He'd just entered his office, with a cup of coffee and a sandwich from the vending machine, when his cell phone buzzed. A quite groan escaped his throat as Karson settled back into his chair and closed his eyes. What could Ladd Sayers want with him?

"You were supposed to update me, three hours ago, Hess!" Sayers barked without preamble, as Karson connected the call. "What's the hold up? You've had plenty of time, to find evidence of Grissom's guilt on this breakout."

Karson shook his head, despite the fact that the DA couldn't see it. "It dosent work like that, Sayers..."

" _Bullshit_!" Sayers' voice exploded in his ear, making him wince and hold the phone a little away from his ear. "It's obvious that he's behind this break out, and he had help. I find it too convenient for Grissom that Hobson is missing. I wouldn't be surprised if he's killed him too. Tie up some loose ends, to prevent him from talking. Grissom is guilty, and CSI is not going to protect him. Thanks to his new attorney, Carrigan has allowed Grissom home to recover from his so-called kidnapping. He has three weeks and then he's back to prison. I want you to find evidence of his guilt, in one week."

Before Karson could even reply, Sayers had hung up. He frowned at the phone for a moment, his mind flashing back to the photos of Grissom's injuries. There was no way they could be attributed to a bus accident alone.

His frown deepened, recalling something Sara had said, when she and Jacobsen had brought the GPS tracker information on Hobson's car. That she believed that Grissom was bring framed for murder. She'd been upset – in hindsight she'd had good cause – but his first impulse had been to put it down to a wife standing by her husband. But this was Sara, and he'd learned first hand that when Sara Sidle set her mind to something, there was no changing it. And if the rumors were true, even Grissom hadn't always been successful in reigning in that Sidle determination.

Sara had always insisted that Grissom was innocent. And until the break out, he'd believed it himself. Witnessing Grissom's injuries first hand, he's viewpoint had rapidly shifted. The paraphernalia of torture and the bloody shackles, and the blood spatter surrounding the area, had only cemented that belief. Sayers' phone call pushing for Grissom's guilt, Karen's forgetfulness in noting down Fromansky as a source, and his later turning up dead, Hobson's untimely vanishing act, not to mention Rory Dunbar's escape. A man, who had a big axe to grind, and was all to willing to bury it deep in Grissom's back. Separately, they didn't mean much. But put them all together….Karson's eyes widened with clarity, the bigger picture coming together, as he realised just how much was stacked against Grissom.

He rose to his feet, quickly, and headed back to the evidence locker, before heading back to the lay out room. There was a renewed determination in his movements as he spread out the photos from the warehouse.

Karson was startled out of his deep study of the photos by the quiet tap on the layout room door frame. He looked up to find Nick Stokes standing in the doorway.

"Thinks for stopping by, Nick," Kason acknowledged as Nick approached the supervisor.

"Catherine, said you wanted to see me, once shift ended. These are from the warehouse?" he asked, his eyes drifting from the photos to Karson.

"Yeah," Karson nodded. "These don't do justice to what he went through," he added gesturing to the other photos.

Nick picked the closest photo to him up, and studied it intensely. It was a photo of Grissom's back, showing the bloody and weeping welts of the whip marks that criss-crossed his back. Nick swallowed, his eyes drifting to other photos of its ilk. Grissom's bruised and battered face, the red burn marks that dotted is torso and the deep black bruising that coloured his ribs and stomach.

Karson watched him carefully as Nick swallowed once more as he picked up a photo baring the severe abrasions on his wrists. The skin inflamed and bleeding. Nick's face drained of colour, but was unable to tear his eyes away from the pictured suffering his former boss had endured. No man deserved this, no matter what they had done.

Karson placed a supportive hand on Nick's shoulder, and he blinked rapidly, unwilling to let his emotions to get the better of him. Whatever had happened on that Transport, Grissom clearly had had no part in it.

"I understand that this is a tough one for you, Nick," Karson said, his voice low. "But I wanted to ask your opinion on a few points. Shit has blown up in my face over this, and that's why I investigated the warehouse myself." Karson sighed and ran a hand over his weary face, taking the chance to best formulate his question.

Folding his arms across his chest, he looked directly at Nick. "This is strictly off the record; I'm just curious to know that when you were working the Sullivan case, if at any point you felt pressured to find evidence of Grissom's guilt?"

Nick smiled uneasily, not quite sure of how to answer the question. Karson picked up on his hesitancy.

"Look, Nick, there is no right or wrong answer here," Karson responded, with urgency. "Forget that I'm a superior for a second. We're just having a chat."

Nick cast his eyes quickly over the photos and the evidence on the table, slowly joining the pieces together. "Yeah, I did," he finally admitted. "I didn't believe at first that Grissom could do something like this, but the deeper I looked into the evidence, the more it looked like he was guilty. When the investigation ran into a dead end, the D.A continued to push for proof positive that Grissom did this."

"I thought so," Karson's voice was low. "He called me a couple of minutes ago, demanding among other things that I find the proof to condemn Grissom. He's adamant that Grissom is behind this jail break, even that he's somehow responsible for this Nash fella going missing."

"That's ridiculous!" Nick expostulated. "There's no evidence that Hobson is dead, and even if that were the case," Nick jabbed a hand in the general direction of the evidence. "Going by these photos, Grissom was already being beaten in the warehouse. There is no way, the D.A can pin anything related to Hobson, on Grissom."

Karson smiled approvingly. "I agree. It appears that Sayers has a personal vendetta against Grissom." Karson bit his bottom lip, mulling over the possibilities. "You know, a personal vendetta seems to be a running theme through this entire case," Karson mused aloud. "Rory Dunbar and David Fromansky, both had a grudge against Grissom. They're both involved in this one way or another, and they both had connections to PD and prison. It's safe to say, that Rory definitely wasn't working alone. He had to have had help."

"If that's the case, then that means Rory's connections are still intact. That there are still people within in the department, and possibly outside too, that are willing to do his dirty work for him." Nick faced the other man, his eyes widening as he connected the dots. "He's not finished with what he started with Grissom and Sara last year. And he's not going to stop until he's completely destroyed him." Nick shook his head in dismay, as he bit his lip.

" _Dammit! I'm such an idiot!"_ Nick exploded suddenly, slamming his hand hard against the lay out table. "Sara was right! Grissom didn't murder Jake. Rory's setting him up for murder."

Karson nodded in approval. "Want to help me prove it? I can square it with Catherine. Technically, this is connected to the Sullivan case. Right now, I'm not sure I can trust anyone but you."


	30. Chapter 30

_A/N: As always your reviews, comments and PM's are very much appreciated. I have another favorite in this chapter. :) Maybe you will see why, and maybe not...and that's fine. Another awesome beta by JellybeanChiChi as always, and for her support and guidance. This story wouldn't be what it is without your help._

* * *

Chapter 29

Finally, after two months and one week, her husband was coming home. She'd quickly called Wilbur to tell him the good news. He'd then surprised her, when he promised to be there when her husband was discharged from the hospital. Within an hour or two of her call to the lawyer, the guard that had been stationed outside his room had been dismissed.

Sara had realized just how much weight Grissom had lost over the last two months, and, reluctant to leave his side any longer than she absolutely had to, had headed to a nearby menswear outlet before going to the hospital. Aware of the amount of pain he was in, and aware that a t-shirt might be too painful and difficult for him to manage, she'd opted instead for a blue plaid button-down shirt.

The swelling on Grissom's left knee had reduced enough for Dr. Tanner to keep her word and fit Grissom with a brace to help support his knee. His few attempts at walking, had prompted the use of a cane, to help support him as his knee healed. To help with that situation, she also bought sweatpants and a pair of slip on loafers.

With lightness in her step, Sara joined Wilbur Jacobsen and Officer Andy Akers in entering Grissom's hospital room. Grissom wasn't alone when the trio entered his room. Dr. Tanner was with him, and smiled on seeing Sara's return to the room. "I was just updating your husband on the benefits of considering rehab."

Grissom kept his eyes downcast, staring at the floor. "I can't see any benefit if I'm only home for three weeks," he muttered, quietly shifting in his wheelchair.

Dr. Tanner knelt down so that she was more level with Grissom so she could address him directly. She tried to catch his eye, but he refused to look at her. "Mr. Grissom, I'm not going to force you, into something you don't want to do," Dr Tanner said gently. "But, can you at least agree to think about it, if prison isn't in your future? Without it you may cause more damage to your leg, and cause more pain than what you are in now. I'm sure you don't want that."

Grissom remained quiet, and Dr. Tanner rose to her feet with a sigh. "Okay, Mr. Grissom. I'm not going to push the issue. But I do insist that you follow PRICE — Protect, Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation — for pain management when you're home. I also recommend avoid HARM — Heat, Alcoholic drinks, Running, Massage. While a hot bath, sauna or heat packs are out of the question, a shower would be okay providing it's not too hot and precautions are taken. "

"He'll remember, doctor," Sara said. "We both will."

The doctor gave a smile to Sara, then placed a hand gently on Grissom's forearm. "I wish you the very best of luck, Mr. Grissom," she remarked with such sincerity, that Grissom looked up. Although his eye contact with the doctor was brief, he mustered a nod of thanks.

Nodding, she quickly left the room to continue her rounds. Akers took the time to adjust the electronic ankle bracelet on one of Grissom's legs. "You got a preference?" he asked.

"I suggest his right ankle would be the better option," Wilbur said.

Under the circumstances, an officer from Clark County where Grissom had originally been arrested for Jake's murder, had been authorized to apply the bracelet on discharge. Akers nodded as he knelt, raised Grissom's pant leg up and pushed the sock down so he could carefully fasten the bracelet on Grissom's right ankle. He made sure that it was secure, but asked "Not too tight?" When he saw Grissom shake his head in the negative, Akers checked it was loose enough to get over Grissom's trousers. Satisfied, he switched it on, and then rose to his feet. "It's already activated. I'll be outside waiting."

He left the room with a quick nod in Sara's direction.

Waiting until Akers exited the room, Wilbur put a hand on Grissom's shoulder. "Judge Carrigan has approved your list of locations, so when you feel up to it, you won't be confined to the house, Gil. And I have good news for you both. The sheriff has agreed to provide officers to discreetly watch the house."

"How much of a fight was that?" Sara asked.

"It wasn't," Wilbur said. "Once he realized Rory Dunbar and David Fromansky were involved, and Dunbar was still out there, he insisted on the coverage. Officer Akers will accompany you home, and check to make sure that everything is secure, once you return."

He knelt down to be level with Grissom, who refused to maintain eye contact. "Gil," Wilbur said, taping his right hand gently on the arm of the wheelchair. When Grissom finally looked at him, Wilbur continued. "This whole thing with the bracelet, won't be for long. Ferguson is still looking for Hobson, and I have every confidence he will find him soon. There has been no new sightings of Rory. I'd like that you take that as a hopeful sign, Gil, but I know better than that. But I do need you to know, that you and your family _are_ safe. Concentrate on healing and let me deal with everything else, alright?"

Grissom sighed heavily, but remained stubbornly silent. He'd resigned himself to the fact that, this was all a waste of time, and in time they would come to the same realization. There would be no future for him, expect prison.

* * *

Sara glanced with worry at Grissom. The journey to their home had become increasingly more painful for him, and they still had a little over half an hour to drive.

His lips were little more than a thin, white slash on his pale, agonized face. Although the A/C was on, his skin and hair were damp with sweat, his pallid face showed spots of colour as though he had a fever. He shifted uncomfortably, burying deeper into the passenger seat as he desperately tried to find some way to ease the deep, throbbing pain in his knee.

His eyes were squeezed tight shut, both against the intense pain he felt, and from the glare of the sun. Because of his broken nose, he was unable to wear his sunglasses, and the sun visor wasn't that much help. His right hand had a vice-like grip on the panic bar above the window, so much so his knuckles were white. His arm shook slightly with the force of his grip. His left hand rubbed the top of the sturdy elastic brace that covered his knee over the top of his sweatpants. Earlier, he'd complained that it felt hot and tight. With a loud groan of pain, he shifted once more, trying to escape the all-consuming agony that was his knee, as Sara had no choice put to pull up at a red light.

This wasn't quite the homecoming Sara had envisioned. She could feel her own tears building at the amount of pain he was in. She reached over and grasped his tightly clenched hand in hers. His skin felt clammy, and she knew it was the pain. "It's not much further, Gil," she attempted to soothe him. "Do you want to me pull over somewhere…."

He cut her question off with an abrupt shake of the head, uttering another long loud groan of agony. He bit down on his lip, and his grip tightening on the panic bar. Tears of pain slid down his cheeks.

"Just...need...need to stretch out…these...damn lights….aren't helping," he gasped, between clenched teeth.

The light changed, and she set off again, pressing the accelerator just a little harder. "We're almost there, honey," she soothed rubbing her thumb over the back of his fisted left hand. She could feel his body trembling. "I'm sorry."

"No. It's… it's not your fault."

Within a few short minutes the comforting sight of Sonterra Circle and their home came into view.

She pulled up onto the drive in front of the garage, and quickly left the car. Officer Akers was by her side as she opened the front door, and turned off the alarm. "Let me do a walk through while you tend to your husband." Sara nodded her thanks and went back to the car.

With a Herculean effort, Grissom pulled himself out of the car, taking a few moments as nausea from the pain roiled in his stomach. His face was soaked in sweat, even the bruises were colourless. His expression was one of intense pain and discomfort. Dizziness made the house swim momentarily as his head and knee both throbbed and pounded in rhythm of his heartbeat.

Sara briefly struggled with the idea of if she should help him or not. In his current state, she wasn't completely sure if he would be able to make it inside on his own, even with the aid of a cane. With pain and exhaustion clear on his face, it was evident that the hour-long drive from Pahrump had taken its toll.

Her husband's needs outweighed any other concerns she might have, and she carefully manoeuvred her arms around his waist, mindful of the deep bruising that was there.

With a grimace of pain that lanced through his left shoulder, he grasped her shoulder desperately, as his other hand leaned heavily on the cane, trying to keep as much of his weight off her.

They'd made the short walk to the front door, when Akers reappeared, holstering his gun. "Everything's secure, Sara," he said as he watched the couple carefully. "Can I help?" he asked hesitatingly.

Grissom's wince of pain was enough to persuade Sara for a little help to get him to the sofa faster. "Take over for me here, and I walk on the other side of him."

Akers nodded and took the bulk of Grissom's weight while Sara had used her arm, instead of the cane, to steady himself. As she held the cane in her other hand, she guided them towards the living room. "He just needs to get to the sofa."

Once he was settled onto the sofa, Grissom uttered a semi sigh of relief, finally able to stretch out his bad knee.

"OK, I'm going to head out," Akers said. "I'll park a bit further back, but with the house in sight, and another officer is at the other side, covering the rear of the house. We've got it covered, if there's a problem."

Sara thanked him, but the thought "famous last words" briefly crossed her mind, before she brushed it aside and turned her attention back to what her husband needed. She gathered some spare pillows from the linen closet, and placed them under his head and his knee, before gathering an ice pack, a towel and a glass of water. In the time it had taken Sara to grab the items, Grissom had taken off the knee brace. She wasn't sure on the wisdom of removing it, but cast it aside for the time being. Right now, it was about what would make him comfortable.

She handed him his painkillers and the glass of water, and watched with concerned eyes as he settled back into the sofa, hardly believing that he was finally home. She sat next to him and asked, "Are you hungry? I could make something while you rest?"

She took his hands in hers as they rested limply on his stomach. Instead of answering the question, Grissom sat there working to level his breathing. Sara let go of his hands for a moment to grab the hand towel she placed on the sofa arm. She gently wiped the sweat on his face and brow before gently sweeping a finger across his hairline.

At that moment, Grissom turned his head and caught her eyes. He stared intently at her, and Sara could identify so many different emotions in his expressive eyes — some laced with pain, others with uncertainty.

But when he wordlessly reached up to grab her hand and place it again upon his stomach, she knew there was love in his eyes as well. Even as he turned his head and closed his eyes, she knew being home was a moment of respite for him, despite his fears for the future.

"I'll let you rest," she said, ready to stand.

With his eyes closed, Grissom squeezed Sara's hands before she could move away. His grip started to loosen and his breathing became even as the medication began to take affect. "I'm okay," he said drowsily. "Thank you."

Sara let go of his hands and played with his hair. "Maybe when you wake up we could have take out to celebrate your homecoming," Sara said, causing Grissom's mouth to twitch upwards in the barest hint of a smile before his face relaxed completely in sleep.

She sat and watched him as he slept for a few moments, reveling in the fact that he was really home. Reluctantly, she dragged herself away from him and headed to the kitchen. She'd promised to update Betty once they'd arrived home, and she desperately wanted to see Daniel too. She looked forward to having her two favourite boys back under the same roof once more.

* * *

They had been home for less than an hour when the doorbell rang. Sara looked at the door with a look of alarm, before glancing at Grissom who still lay sleeping on the sofa. Cautiously, Sara approached the door, her heart racing. She looked through the peep-hole to see Nick Stokes on the other side.

She debated whether she should open the door. But when he knocked once more, she feared that he might wake Grissom from his much needed rest. Her face said volumes as she opened the door and stood sentry in the doorway.

Seeing his friend like that, Nick knew he was on thin ice appearing out of the blue. "Sara, I..." He hesitated, not sure of where to begin. His expression was one of genuine remorse. "I heard Griss was home and out of the hospital..."

Sara shook her heard, raising one hand to halt any further talk from him. "Save it," she said, unwilling to forgive him. She glanced quickly over her shoulder in the direction of the sofa. "He's sleeping and I don't want him disturbed. So I'd appreciated it, if you left," she said, starting to close the door.

Nick hesitated a moment, wondering if he would ever be able to repair the damage he'd done to their friendship, before he decided it was worth the risk, and stretched his arm out, stopping Sara from closing the door.

"Nick. Don't"

"You have every right to be pissed, Sara," his tone urgent. "Just hear me, out before you close the door in my face."

"I think I've heard enough from you."

"I'm not tryin' to make excuses, but I really did try to look for Griss' innocence. I did everything by the book, and this is where it got me," Nick said.

"I'm sorry," Sara said, her voice laced with venom. "Where it got you? What the hell does that mean?"

"I doubted him, Sara. I doubted you." Nick said, honest remorse reflected in his voice. "I know now he didn't kill Jake, and he isn't behind the jailbreak. If you let me apologize properly, and let me in so we can talk, maybe we can figure out how to prove his innocence. Because, right now, no matter what I think, the evidence is telling us … he doesn't have a chance for innocence," Nick finished desperately. "I don't want him to go down for this. He doesn't deserve it."

Sara's eyes blazed with fury at his nerve. "It's a little late for that Nick!" she hissed, keeping her voice low despite her anger. "You made you feelings _quite_ clear that day at the restaurant." Sara tried to close the door again, and this time, Nick wedged it open with his foot. Sara's dark eyes burned.

"Move it, or I'll break it," she warned, her tone enough to convince Nick that she meant it. He braced his arms against the door frame before moving his foot.

"Hear me out, Sara!" he pleaded. "It's not too late. Not if we work together."

Sara could feel her blood pressure rising. If she had to, she could ram into Nick like a linebacker and slam the door shut. But a part of her was curious.

"How is it not too late?"

"Karson is getting pressure from the D.A. to find evidence on Grissom's guilt. The D.A. wants to go for the jugular," Nick said, putting all the cards on the table. "But we can prove Grissom wasn't behind the jailbreak. If we can discover what really happened with Jake, the D.A. will have nothing. Please, Sara. Let me in, and we can exchange information. Karson and me, think we're onto something, but we need to know more of what happened that night. If it's not you, then I'll have to talk to Grissom."

Shaking her head, Sara's arm relaxed slightly. "He's in no condition to be questioned, Nick. You can come in, but you make it brief. He's still in a lot of pain, and sleep is the best thing for him right now."

"That's fine. Maybe we can talk."

Sara let out a sigh. If anything, talking with Nick would give her information on what the hell was going on with the investigation. "OK. Come in. We can talk in the kitchen. But if he wakes up, you're gone."

She opened the door further and Nick stepped gratefully inside. Closing the door soundlessly, she guided Nick quickly into the kitchen, giving the sofa a wide berth, not allowing him even the smallest glimpse of Grissom.

Once in the kitchen, she didn't offer him any refreshment. She simply stood with her arms folded across her chest.

Realizing his time was short, Nick got right to business. "I'm working both Jake's case and the jailbreak with Karson. We know for sure that Rory and Fromansky were involved in this," he quickly summarized.

"Yeah, a dead body will do that," Sara said, referring to Fromansky.

"So does Dunbar's fingerprints and DNA samples on various … items on scene and on Grissom himself," Nick swallowed a lump in his throat as he recalled the images from when Karson processed Grissom. "Is he… I hope… he's doing OK."

Sara let out a breath. She really wanted to possess her anger with Nick, but she knew Nick's genuine spirit and he seemed remorseful and worried. "He's not doing well, Nick. I just want him comfortable, peaceful."

Nick nodded his head. "I never wanted this for him. Even though I did everything by the book. I never wanted this for him." He let out a breath. "That's why I… we need your help. Whatever we can get to move in the right direction."

Sara nodded, giving Nick the OK to continue. "In the report on the jailbreak, there are a few. …discrepancies." He held up his hands as Sara started to speak. "Right now, I can't say too much about that. But it's enough to make Karson and me very suspicious. Once we have more evidence that they are definitely involved, then I promise to discuss it further."

Sara's mind went a mile a minute, but had to trust Nick to his work.

"I've looked over the evidence for Jake's murder with a fine tooth comb, and so has Karson. Whoever actually killed Jake, was good enough to leave trace pointing directly at Grissom," Nick said. "I know we've been through it before…"

"How far back should I start?" Sara asked, immediately recognizing where Nick was headed.

"I need to know more about what happened, leading up to and including that night."

"Jake followed me to the parking garage, and was being his usual jerk self. Saying things about Gil. When I set him straight, he grabbed my wrist. That's when Gil showed up," Sara said. "They fought. We came home. We played with Daniel and watched a movie with him." Sara wiped at her eyes for a moment. "We went to bed, and Hank woke us up. I guess it was just before midnight. Daniel woke up, too, and neither Hank nor Daniel would settle. That's when Gil decided to take Hank out. He's done it before. We didn't even know that Jake was dead until you turned up the next morning."

Nick nodded, recalling that fateful day, too vividly. "Hank was with Grissom you have any idea how long they were out?"

"Maybe half an hour. Maybe less. It wasn't long, Nick."

"I was called to the scene at Desert Breeze Park," he said slowly, formulating his thoughts. "Blood trace came back as positive to both Grissom and Jake, which makes sense since they had a previous fight."

"Gil's lawyer could fight that."

"But what I found strange was the canine DNA that led to Hank. If Grissom had Hank with him, why didn't Hank attack Jake? Doc Robbins confirmed there were no bite marks on Jake's body," Nick said. "But there was canine DNA on Jake's throat. We figured transfer from the boots, because Hank's DNA was on the boots. But so was Jake's blood."

"You're talking about the pair of Karimor Mount men's walking boots, right?"

"Yeah," Nick confirmed.

"Definitely that specific pair?"

"Committed the brand to memory. They definitely looked worse for wear."

"Like a dog got to them?"

Nick thought hard. "I'd have to check."

"Nick, I swear to you, I saw Gil throw those boots away days before Jake was murdered," Sara stated, her body relaxing.

"Are you absolutely certain on that, Sara?" Nick asked before he could quell the question. He winced inwardly, as he waited for the scathing reply he deserved.

Sara didn't seem to take offence at the question, and he relaxed slightly, as she nodded. "I'd spent the day in court, and he was putting them in the trash can as I pulled up. Hank had chewed them, and Gil wasn't exactly thrilled. They were his favourite walking boots."

Nick grinned. He could work with that information. "If someone had taken the boots…"

"Maybe there is DNA on the inside of the boot?" Sara added.

They both heard Grissom stir in the other room. Sara's face turned into one of immediate concern. "Nick I need to …"

"I understand," Nick said. "I'll go."

Sara nodded her head. As Nick turned to leave, Sara quickly asked. "Keep in touch?"

"I will Sara. Thank you."

The thanks was for more than just giving Nick information. When he left, he made sure not to disturb Grissom. Armed with the info Sara had just given him, his gut told him the boots were the key to Grissom's innocence. Grissom might have always said don't let feelings guide you, but he never disapproved of gut feelings.

This case still had secrets to reveal, and Nick was determined to find them.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 30

It was growing late in the day shift, and both Karson and Nick's frustration with the jailbreak case was increasing. It wasn't helping that the D.A. was insisting on hourly updates, despite his impossible one-week deadline for empirical proof of Grissom's guilt.

Karson wished he could tell the D.A. exactly what he could do with his interference with the case, and had had half a mind to leak the information to Grissom's attorney of what the prosecutor was doing. But, he'd quickly realized that wouldn't really help Grissom in the long run, and he needed all the help he could get.

The evidence was confusing, to say the least, as it had no clear indication that pinpointed who did what and why. And while it didn't scream that Grissom was guilty, nothing concrete exonerated him either. Yet, both Karson and Nick held more intensifying beliefs that Grissom was being set up. It was just proving a tough job to prove it.

Karson frowned in intense concentration at the photo of the polo shirt that Grissom had been wearing. From its size, it was clear that it wasn't his. Not just because Grissom had lost weight in the last few months, but the shoulders were too broad, suggesting it wasn't his shirt to begin with. Still holding the photo and picking up one showing Fromansky with a single bullet hole to his head, Karson studied both silently for a few minutes before he turned to his younger companion.

"See this," Karson said about the photo of Grissom in a shirt. "There's blood from two different donors on the shirt. The blood smear on the front is a match to Fromansky, but the blood on the back, is a match to Grissom."

Nick nodded, picking up another photo, this one showing a full body shot of Grissom, trouser-less and unconscious. He swallowed with difficulty. A part of him felt he had had some responsibility in what had happened to his former boss. If he'd dug a little harder, he might have found something, anything, that would have helped Grissom. "You think this was staged? That it was made to look like Grissom killed Fromansky?"

"I'm not sure what someone was trying to stage, but I would agree it would suggest that Fromansky was stripped."

Nick followed Karson's train of thought. "Then if Fromansky was stripped of a shirt, for whatever reason, Grissom was possibly forced to wear it. The blood on the front of the shirt isn't Grissom's you said. It's definitely Fromansky's?"

Karson nodded. "Tested positive for Fromansky. And the blood pattern on the front, suggests that it was smeared on."

"Probably to make it look like Grissom smeared Fromansky's blood on the shirt."

"But there wasn't any blood, aside from his own, on Grissom's hands," Karson said. "Now, Grissom's blood is on the back, I would assume from some of his wounds on his back. Some of the whip lashings were still fresh. There was a partial print in the blood pool, near Fromanksy's head – that matched to Rory."

After hearing Karson talk about whip lashing, Nick closed his eyes for a moment.

"You OK?" Karson asked.

Nick opened his eyes, which were focused and intense. "Yeah. I'm good. This is all too convenient to pin something on a guy who had the piss beaten out of him."

Karson smiled at Nick's choice of words. "Can't argue with that."

"I'm thinking, Rory killed Fromansky," Nick stated. "But why kill him off, if he killed Jake?"

"Fromansky was collateral damage; he'd served his purpose and was surplus to requirements," Karson surmised. "My guess is Rory is busy tying up loose ends, and something tells me, despite his vanishing act, he's far from finished with Grissom."

"Well, if he wanted to pin Fromansky's murder on Grissom, why didn't we find the gun that killed him?"

"Good point," Karson said, as he picked up another photo, this one, of an on overturned chair and a video camcorder. "There's a lot of why's in this case. I didn't find a gun, but I found a video camcorder, but the tape was missing. There was overturned chair in direct line to the camera, which suggests to me a recording of some kind was made. I found traces of blood on the chair – positive match to Grissom."

"You think Rory made a recording of his torture of Grissom, like some sick trophy?" Nick asked, appalled.

Before Karson could answer, Karen O'Shea entered the layout room. Her eyes settled on the photos scattered across the layout table.

"Is that the evidence from the jail break? That's my case."

Karson looked at her incredulously. "You worked the case, yes, but I've been the lead from the start, Karen," stated Karson, his tone authoritative.

Nick pretended to busy himself with the evidence, not wanting to get in the middle of anything. But he saw how Karen's eyes slid over to him, her eyes flashing with quick anger. "You know what, I'm going to take a bathroom break. Be back in five."

After he left, Karen turned to face Karson again, lifting her chin slightly.

"I need to speak to you about this, privately," she said to her supervisor.

Karson had turned his attention back to the evidence on the table. He really wasn't in the mood for any territorial squabbles over cases. "At any other time, Karen, I'd say sure, but the D.A. is breathing down my neck on this one, so whatever you have to say, say it now and make it short."

Karen crossed her arms before turning her furious glare back in Karson's direction. "Why aren't you asking a day shift CSI for help? Why are you taking in strays from other shifts? First Sara," Karen's tone was heavy with contempt. "And now Stokes."

Karson froze, keeping his face averted from Karen, as he blinked once then twice. The feeling that she was being far too defensive crossed his mind. Especially since she'd already messed up the whole Fromansky connection. Nor did he appreciate the snarky attitude against a fellow CSI. He slowly turned to face the younger criminalist.

"Let's get one thing cleared up, O'Shea," Karson's voice was authoritative. "I really don't need to discuss my decisions on who works on what case with you. Since this is my case, I get to pick and choose who helps out. As your supervisor, I know that you have a full caseload to deal with. I suggest that you put your energies into clearing those up, before jockeying for a place on another case."

"But if I worked the case before…"

"And there was a mistake made that turned out to be fatal," Karson said. "When I believe I need support on this case, I will call upon who I feel is confident to help me. And that goes for any CSI on staff. There are no strays in this building, Karen."

Feeling chastised Karen's gaze, far more wary than before, drifted back to the evidence table, before quietly slipping from the layout room.

With a huff of annoyance, Karson turned back to the table. He heard Nick reenter the layout room a minute or two later.

"Sorry about that," he said quietly, in apology to Nick after a few minutes. "This case..." he shook his head.

Nick remained silent as he pieced together what they'd discovered. His thoughts returned time and time again to Fromansky. "Let's go back to Fromansky," Nick suggested after a few minutes of quiet thinking. "We've established that we believe it was Rory who killed him, we just don't have direct evidence of that."

"For that we need the gun or Dunbar to show up."

"Let's not lose hope for that," Nick said. "But if Rory was tying loose ends, it would make sense that Fromansky is the one who killed Jake. Now, the boots is the piece of evidence that really damns Grissom, but Sara swears up and down that she saw Grissom throw those shoes away."

"Grissom said that from the beginning," Karson added.

"Add to that the night he supposedly threw them away, Sara said Hank, their dog, woke up during the night barking at something outside. They never did figure out what it was."

"So, you're thinking Fromansky got hold of the boots. Pinched them from the trash."

Nick nodded, his eyes alit with possibilities. "Grissom threw away the boots because Hank chewed them up. But if you were determined enough, they could still be worn."

"There's no more evidence in regards to Fromansky at the warehouse, but there's a chance there could be something at his home or his office at the prison, perhaps. He may have suspected that Rory would double-cross him and wanted to cover his ass, as a precaution."

"I wouldn't mind taggin' along if you're thinking of searching his house," Nick said, an eagerness in his tone. "See if it's possible that there is anything connected to Jake. I know it's a long shot..." he added with a shrug.

Karson smiled. "C'mon, Nick. Let's see what a former cop and assistant prison warden had to hide," he said as he packed the evidence away.

* * *

Enterprise, Nevada, sits north of down town Vegas. The bedroom community sports upper-middle class, to upper-class homes. Fromansky's sea foam, grey-green house was the last in a cul-de-sac among similar-looking houses in the neighborhood. A drive curved up from the road, ending in a large garage, which was the main feature of the front of the house. The front door was set a ways back to the left of the house, under a small portico. Gravel rather than grass covered the lawn next to the drive, giving Nick the impression that Fromansky wasn't the gardening type.

Nick's first impression on seeing Fromansky's house was despite the nice enough neighborhood, it shouted "dirty cop" rather than "cop who made wise and prudent financial decisions." He wasn't sure if he was biased because of his history with Fromansky and the former officer's attitude towards Grissom a few years back, or because of Fromansky's sudden involvement in Grissom's latest situation. Maybe it was both.

Entering the house, Nick got the impression that Fromansky was obsessive compulsive about organization. Immediately catching his eye was the row of awards that he'd earned over the years. Nick gave a disgruntled snort. He'd heard of the numerous complaints he'd received over the course of his career. He wasn't convinced that Fromansky deserved any of his accolades.

There were more awards and trophies, some going back to his childhood, displayed throughout the house. What also stood out was how the only photos in the house were him holding some award. He definitely thought a lot about himself. And everything was neat as a pin.

An hour later, Karson stood in the middle of Fromansky's bedroom, with his arms akimbo, and sighed with frustration. He had searched the room thoroughly, and he'd come up blank.

As he gathered his silver kit, he hoped that Nick had faired much better than he had. He found him in a small office across from the dining room sitting at a desk. He looked up as Karson entered.

"Anything usable?"

"Nothing jumped up at me," Karson said. "Fromansky's shoes are a size bigger than Grissom's."

"That means he didn't use the boots?"

"I'm not willing to say that yet. He probably could have got his foot inside it, if he wasn't wearing socks, which means he might have left some skins cells as it scraped against the inside of the boot."

"We need to check for a DNA sample inside the boots when we get back to the lab," Nick said. "I'm thinking we need to get a warrant of Fromansky's bank records. I looked for a hand-written ledger, but no such luck."

Karson had been rummaging around, as Nick was talking, and paused as a floorboard creaked. He stepped back, and then forwards again, testing his weight, as he did so. The floorboard was definitely loose.

The floor was laminated and covered only by a large rug. Kneeling down, he pulled the rug back, and took out a pocket knife to pry the loose board free. In the space under the floor was a small, green deposit box. Having caught his attention, Nick was quick to take several photos of the box before Karson pulled it out.

"Looks like your 'cover his ass' theory might hold water, hoss," Nick said.

The box was padlocked, but after more photos were taken, Karson picked the lock. Inside was a black notebook. He picked it up and flickered through it, before taking a much slower look. It looked like Fromansky had kept a detailed journal of meetings and places, along with dates.

His eyes widened at his find, and he looked up at Nick who was watching him expectantly.

"Well, I don't know if he's the one that definitely killed Jake, but he's in this conspiracy pretty deep. Deep enough to want to cover his ass if this ever went south. He mentions Rory quite frequently. There seems to be a $200,000 wire transfer three days after Jake's death."

"Makes sense if he killed Jake and Rory wanted to make sure Grissom was arraigned," Nick said.

"Well, Fromansky was due payment the day he died and then was going to meet up with Dunbar for a final payment."

"When was that scheduled?" Nick asked.

Karson glanced up toward Nick. "The day Fromansky died."

"Tough luck for Fromansky," Nick said.

"Yeah, but it looks like plans changed at the last minute," Karson said, pointing to a scratched out entry in the ledger. "It looks like going to the warehouse was a last minute decision. He was originally going to meet 'RD' at the Happy Lodge Inn at Desert View Point."

"You know the phrase don't shit where you eat?" Nick asked.

Karson smiled. "In this case don't leave a dead body where you eat."

"This could be the lead we need," Nick said. "That might be Rory's hiding place."

"Gather up your stuff and let's get out of here," Karson said. "We'll call the detectives on the road. A visit needs to be made to the Happy Lodge Inn at Desert View Point ASAP."


	32. Chapter 32

_A/N: Another awesome beta by JellybeanChiChi, who also wrote some of the chapter too. What will be found at the hotel, and will it help or hinder Grissom's case? As always, thanks also for your reviews/comments. They really do mean a lot_

* * *

Chapter 31

Only a handful of the 40 rooms at the Happy Lodge Motel in Desert View Point were occupied. The small, dated inn was not far from Spring Mountain Youth Camp and Angel Peak, and about an hour's drive from Enterprise.

According to the manager, Room 19 was occupied by two men registered under the name Roy and Walt Disney. They rented the room for two weeks, cash up front, and wished to have privacy away from other renters.

When police arrived, warrant in hand, they went to the front desk and gave the manager a choice: open the room with the master key or have the door broken down.

The decision was an easy one.

"Mr. Disney," the manager called as he knocked on the door of No. 19. "We've had some complaints about a gas leak. Please open the door."

"Busy. You can check later," said a muffled voice from inside.

Detective Matty Foster motioned for the manager to open the door and get out of way. Once the door swung open, Foster's voice boomed. "Las Vegas PD! Hands up where we can see them!"

Inside was a shirtless male holding a bottle of bleach in one hand and a brush in the other. He did what he was told and was shoved against the wall by police officers.

Foster took a cursory glance at the small room with two queen beds. There seemed to be signs of a struggle, as evidenced by an overturned lamp, a broken chair…

And a dead body on one of the beds.

He stepped out of the room to find Karson Hess and Nick Stokes waiting to enter. "All clear?" Nick asked.

"Sorry guys. Gotta call the coroner first."

The two CSIs looked at each other. While neither had any compassion for Rory Dunbar, they hoped for Grissom's sake, he wasn't the dead body. A dead man could tell no tales and Rory Dunbar had a lot of questions to answer.

They peeked into the room. The view made Nick want to slam his hand into a wall. "God damn it!"

Dunbar's body laid on top of the bed, a large blood pool coagulating from a stab wound in the thigh.

* * *

The police took Ellis Crossan, a guard who had worked at Southern Nevada Correctional, into custody from the hotel room. Working the scene, Nick and Hess found a switch-blade knife that they printed and swabbed for DNA.

Prints on the handle came back to Crossan, whose prints were in the system thanks to his prison detail, and the blood was positive match to Rory Dunbar. The CSIs surmised that a fight broke out between the two men and Dunbar was on the receiving end of the knife blade. The coroner estimated the deep stab wound to the femoral artery had Dunbar bleed out in 20 minutes. He hadn't been dead for long when police found them. Two hours, possibly three.

With damning evidence of Dunbar's death and the lives of missing guards and prisoners from the bus transfer in question, detectives had a lot of questions to ask Crossan. The problem was he was completely silent, save one word.

"Lawyer."

Karson and Nick had gone to PD and stood outside the two-way mirror of the interrogation room where Foster had Crossan. Hearing him lawyer up, the two knew their time would be better spent in the lab.

Since they were still awaiting the warrant for Fromansky's bank records, they put aside his evidence to focus on what they found in the motel room. They did find a stun gun that tested positive for Grissom's DNA on the end of the device that supposedly Dunbar jabbed into Grissom's body. A partial print on the taser also matched Dunbar.

While that evidence confirmed what Grissom had said about his abuse, another piece of evidence peaked Karson's interest. Taped to the back of a set of drawers in Room 19 of the Happy Lodge Inn Karson found an SD media card. He wondered if this was the missing video from the camcorder he found in the warehouse.

The two headed to the A/V lab to view what was on the card. Nick had already suspected that Rory had recorded his torture of Grissom. He wondered if his hunch was correct. Nick took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for what he might see on the tape, before pressing "play."

The screen flickered briefly, before it focused on Grissom's battered form. Nick swallowed reflexively, his Adam's apple bobbing erratically, as he tried to keep the bile from rising. Karson had been right; the photos of Grissom at the warehouse didn't give justice to what Gil Grissom had gone through.

It was plain to see that he was a broken man in intense physical and emotional pain. His face was swollen and bruised, his nose clearly broken. Nick noticed that he favoured his left side, although from the way he moved his arms and shoulders they equally caused him a great deal of pain. Fresh blood still trickled from his mouth and nose, suggesting that he'd recently suffered a further beating before being displayed in front of the camera. His hands visibly shook.

As Rory's voice sounded from behind the camera ordered Grissom to state his full name and age, the haunted bloodshot eyes that started back at Nick would stay with him for months.

His rage building, Nick forced himself to watch until the end. It was self-evident that Grissom's confession had been under great duress. Consumed with fury, Nick rose abruptly to his feet, and headed out the door.

"Nick," Karson called after him. When Nick didn't stop or turn around, Karson went after him. He jogged to catch up and grabbed the CSI by the arm. "Nick, where are you going?"

"Back to PD."

"Why?"

"To body slam that bastard prison guard against a wall."

"I get it. You need a breather," Karson said. "You've been working this for 15 hours straight, Stokes. It might be good to leave."

"I am going to leave and I am going to PD and I am going slam that guy into a wall until the fucking bastard tells me how much payment he got to watch a man, shackled, beaten and humiliated!" Nick said pulling his arm out of Karson's grasp. "Now get the fuck off of me!"

But Karson grabbed the man again, despite seeing Nick ball his fist. Speaking close to Nick, Karson spoke quietly but with stern authority. "Nick you leave for PD and I will take you off this case, period. If you want to help Grissom, this is not the way to go about it, do you understand?"

"Yeah, you really think so?" Nick answered in an equally low voice, but one laced with rage. "Cause we've been working evidence by the book and every time we get closer, a critical player in this fucking charade is dead. Maybe shaking the shit out of Ellis or torturing him the way he watched Grissom get tortured is the only way to get that son of a bitch to talk."

Karson nodded sagely, and when he spoke his voice was calm. "I'm sorry you had to see what was on that tape Nick. And I can't begin to imagine what you're feeling right now. I don't know Grissom as well as you do, but I know you think a lot of him," Karson stated, watching the younger man carefully. "This case is frustrating enough without you going off on a suspect. You're tired and you need to go home."

"Damn right I'm tired!" Nick shot back, angrily cutting off the supervisor. "I'm tired of going round in circles! I'm tired of the evidence only leading us to Grissom's guilt! And I hate the fact that I gave up on him too quickly. That I was stupid enough to believe that he could do something like this!"

Karson placed a supportive hand on Nick's shoulder. "You know, because of your history with Grissom I wonder if I was your supervisor if I would have assigned you his case. But you looked at the evidence objectively, Nick, and right now I think you're the best person to help him."

"I've done a shitty job so far."

"We're not done yet," Karson said. "Go home, Nick. Try and get some rest, and we can tackle this again with fresh eyes in the morning."

With a grateful nod, Nick quickly left and Karson retreated to his office. About 45 minutes later, he received a text from Nick that read, "I'm home. Thanks and sorry."

Some 15 minutes after that, Karson's thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Detective Bowden."

"Can I come in?"

"Sure. Sit down," Karson said. "Is it impossibly optimistic that you're here to tell me you got Ellis Crossan to talk?"

"Absolutely," Bowden said. "Actually I had come here to look at that evidence you found. The SD card."

"You viewed it?"

"Just got back from the A/V lab," Bowden said. "I definitely have some questions for Grissom. I'm going to the house tomorrow morning first thing."

"The man has just been discharged from hospital," Karson said. "You think he's in a good enough state to answer questions?"

"Not my job to worry about that," Bowden said. "I've got dead bodies one after the other tied into what happened to him, and now we have this added dimension of a confession he gave on that tape."

"He looked distressed," Karson said gauging Bowden's response.

"He looked like a lot of things," Bowden said as he stood.

"I'd like to tag along for the interview."

Bowden paused for a moment. He knew his partner would not like that, but Bowden was too tired to start a pissing match with a CSI. "He's a murder suspect, and I'm not giving him any special considerations."

"I don't think anyone is giving Grissom special considerations. We're all trying to get to the truth, right detective?"

The detective nodded. "Meet me there at 8. I'm guessing you have the address."

After the detective left the office, Karson made a phone call.


	33. Chapter 33

_A/N: Another amazing beta from JellybeanChChi, who also contributed to this chapter. This story has many great chapters, but a few stand out just a little more than others, and I think this and two chapters that follow this, are the strongest yet. I certainly count them among my very favorites. As always, your review/comments and PM's are appreciated. I hope you enjoy this chapter and the once to follow. :D_

* * *

Chapter 32

"I don't need help with a shower or to get dressed for bed. Leave it, Sara."

Despite the gruffness and insistence of his voice, Grissom couldn't make eye contact with Sara. He simply sat on his bed sulking, his gaze focused on the bathroom door and nothing more. "For Christ's sake, I'm not a child."

Sara knew his first night back at the house wouldn't be a romantic or momentous homecoming. She was warned about the mood swings, and she expected them. So she tried to sound as patient and gentle as possible because while these months have been hard for her, they were probably harder on her husband.

"Gil, I know you're not a child, sweetheart," Sara soothed gently. "But don't you think it'll be safer if you don't shower alone, at least at first?"

"I can manage!" he snapped.

He knew her offers to help were out of love and support. He knew that, yet he continued to angrily dismiss her and any loving advances. He had to do things for himself, for his sake and hers. He had to be as independent as possible for the next three weeks — a ghost in his own home — so that it will be an easier transition for Sara when he would inevitably return to prison.

His plan would be so much easier if she would not be so damn kind and so damn stubborn.

In other words, if she hadn't been so Sara Sidle-ish.

"Even in you can manage, Gil, which I don't think you can right now, what is the harm in me helping you?"

He stood up from the bed using his cane and let his rage overtake him as he took the short walk to the bathroom. "I'M FINE! JUST STOP!" To drive the point home, he slammed the bathroom door and locked it.

Sara shook her head in frustration and sighed she heard the telltale sound of the lock. It was silly, really, the lock was easily pickable. Each of them had accidentally locked the door after exiting, which is why there was a key on the top of the door frame.

She thought about using the key, but decided maybe he just needed to cool off.

The ring of her cellphone also convinced her to give him a moment or two. She looked at the caller ID and made a face as she answered. "Karson? Is everything all right?"

"Sorry for the late call, Sara? I didn't wake you two, did I?"

"No, we're getting ready for bed. What's up?" she asked as she heard the shower turn on in the bathroom.

Oblivious to her phone call, Grissom turned on the water spray despite being still dressed. He didn't want Sara to hear him struggling while he got undressed and got into the walk-in shower. If she did, he knew she would use the key they had on the door frame to pick the locked bathroom door.

At least he didn't have to pull a t-shirt over his head. The button-down, blue plaid shirt was much easier to disrobe. He unbuttoned each button slowly and deliberately to ease the motion of moving his arm up and down. He undid the string on his sweats and pushed them down while simultaneously avoiding any movement in his knee and any twisting motion that would hurt his ribs.

The pants fell without too much protest, so he made his way inside the shower. In hindsight, turning on the water was a bad idea because the floor was wet and slippery. All the sudden, the shower chair, which he initially saw as needless, seemed like a good idea.

After Sara hung up her phone to end her second phone call, she noticed five minutes had passed. He should have cooled down for now, she thought. Although, she didn't know how he would react to the news she got on the phone.

She knocked on the bathroom door. "Gil?" Knowing the water was on, and he might be using his patented semi-permeable hearing, she spoke a lot louder. "GIL! CAN YOU TURN OFF THE WATER FOR A SECOND?"

"What?"

"I NEED TO TALK TO YOU. TURN OFF THE…"

"What?"

She was going to yell again until she heard a loud clatter and a curse. She frantically grabbed the key and opened the door. "What happened? Are you OK?"

Inside the shower she saw a water-soaked Grissom stretching unsuccessfully to grab the soap bar and shampoo bottle that had fallen on the tile and out of his reach. "I'm fine. I can get up and get it."

"This is ridiculous," Sara mumbled as she got to the shower door and turned off the water. "It's OK to ask for help, hon…"

Seeing his naked back for the first time made Sara pause. She was told about the lacerations on his back, how there were many lacerations and how some needed stitches. But it was only now that she saw the extent of the damage on his back and coupled the visible injuries on his leg, torso and head, it made her tear up.

There was no doubt in her mind: He definitely had it worse in these last two months.

For his part, Grissom felt completely exposed sitting in that chair. "I… I'm fine. I'll get out."

She took a deep breath and put a firm hand on his shoulder. She mustered up a smile and cleared her throat before speaking. "Don't get up. You worked so hard getting in here, so let's finish together. It won't take long."

Sara retrieved two more wash cloths and then picked up the soap and shampoo. Since the shower head could be both stationary and hand held, she took it out of the cradle. "Go ahead and soap up. I'll do your back and then your hair. And we can dry off."

Grissom let out a sigh. "Sara, it's not your responsibility to take care of me. I can do this."

She came around the chair to face him and despite being fully clothed kneeled on the wet, tile floor. "You know, I need this." She placed her hands on his thighs feeling him tense under her touch. "I need to be able to help you because I almost lost you. This is important to me. I know this is hard for you, honey, but I need you to understand that."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. He could get out of this if he fought harder, and wasn't sure if he really wanted to fight. "OK."

She gave a smile and squeezed his thighs again but before walking behind him she asked him a question. "Was it too difficult to take off your underwear?"

Grissom looked perplexed. He hadn't even noticed he did that. "Oh. Habit… from … uh… I'll take them off now."

"Let me help," Sara said. She didn't need clarification for his broken statement — it was habit from his time in prison. She wouldn't take off her undergarments in prison either.

Once she was behind him, they fell into a silence. Somewhat strained. Somewhat familiar. Regardless, they did their respective tasks — he washed his front and she took care of his back, shoulders and nape. Then she lovingly washed his hair.

The shower finished, Sara helped Grissom out then returned to the shower to wash herself. Grissom turned to give her privacy and took his time drying himself before slowly retreating to the bedroom.

Washed and teeth brushed, Sara left the bathroom and found Grissom on the edge of their bed working to get some pyjama pants on. "You got it?"

"Yes," he said distantly.

"Do you feel a little better?"

He shrugged his answer. "What were you going to ask me when you broke into the bathroom?"

"Oh, yeah… I got a call from Karson, my supervisor. He was giving us a heads up. Detectives Foster and Bowden are coming over early in the morning to get a statement from you. I called Wilbur. He's going to be here. Earlier than the detectives, he hopes."

He knew this interview was inevitable, but that didn't make it any easier to contemplate it. Seeing how lost he was in his own thoughts, Sara went about putting on clothes and getting ready for bed. Noticing him still rooted in his spot, she grabbed a button-down sleep shirt for him and sat next to him.

"This is nice and soft. Want to put it on?"

He looked at her, his gaze practically unreadable. She lifted up the shirt so he could simply put his arms through the armholes. He complied then stood and worked to button the buttons himself. "Do you want me to sleep in the other room?"

"What?" Sara asked incredulously. "Why would you think that?"

The shrug returned. "I haven't been exactly… pleasant to be around. Besides, it might be better."

Sara stood up. "I'm going to sleep. In our bed. I'd like you to join me. But, honestly Gil, it's up to you. I'll be back. I'm going to secure the house and turn off the lights."

When she came back to the bedroom a couple of minutes later, she breathed a sigh of relief in seeing Grissom under the covers at the furthest part of his side of the bed. He feigned sleep, she could tell, but she didn't question him. She simply got into her bed, kissed him on his forehead and said, "Goodnight. I love you."

* * *

Physically, waking up was not a pleasant act for Grissom. The locations of his aches and pains seemed never-ending, and their severity ever present.

But this morning, waking up would be equally unpleasant mentally.

He feigned sleep when Sara rose out of bed, telling him she would begin breakfast and then come back to help him get dressed. But he really didn't want that. Once he heard her pad into the kitchen, he started the slow sojourn from rising from the bed to getting some clothes on to walking into the kitchen.

He stopped for a moment before fully entering the kitchen. Sara was just plating up some buckwheat pancakes and fruit salad for breakfast – his favourite. It was such a sweet moment of domestic tranquillity but Grissom couldn't get past the pain, anxiety and sour outlook. He hated himself for not being able to fully appreciate the moment and ruin it.

Feeling eyes upon her, Sara turned around with a smile. It wasn't completely returned, although she thought he tried to upturn his mouth slightly. His dishevelled, exhausted appearance tugged at her heart. The pain in his knee, torso and back made sleep difficult, and the nightmares had left him soaked in a chilling sweat. Neither of them had slept well.

Although she said she would help him dress, he hadn't listened and put on a navy blue t-shirt and a pair of sweats. The shirt hung loosely from his thin frame, and Sara wondered at what it had cost him to put it on. As he limped his way to the table, leaning heavily on the cane, she was relieved to note that he wore his knee brace. He kept his eyes downcast as he painfully sat down at the table.

"I'd thought I'd make your favourite," Sara said, as she brought his plate over. She brushed her fingers gently through his soft, graying curls. "Your mother is bringing Daniel and Hank back, today. She's desperate to see you. Daniel will be excited to see you, too. He's really missed you. We all have."

He let the conversation drift over his head. She watched a moment as Grissom stabbed listlessly at his pancakes before she grabbed her own breakfast and sat across from him at the table.

But he stared with dismay at his plate. The thought of having to answer any further questions turned his stomach. He doubted that his answers would satisfy them, anyway. Recent events had proven that already, and he was under no illusions that this time would be any different. He pushed his plate away, what little appetite he had, was now gone. He'd not even attempted to eat anything. "I'm not very hungry."

"If the pancakes are too much, maybe the fruit salad.."

"I said I didn't want anything!" Grissom insisted loudly, his eyes seeking out and holding hers briefly, before he glanced away and shook his head. "Aren't you late for work?" he asked, his tone calmer.

Another mood swing and again unpredictable. Sara tried not to take his attitude too personally. He'd need time, and a lot of support as well as patience. Still, she took a moment before she answered his question.

"Work's covered, Gil. The only place I need to be is right here with you."

Grissom raised his head, his eyes narrowed as he held eye contact with her, almost challengingly. His body may be beaten, but his mind was not broken. He began to fit the pieces together. While it would have made sense to stay in Pahrump rather than drive the hourly commute from there every day, he knew there had to be another, underlying reason she wasn't working now.

"You mean you've been fired, don't you?" he asked, bluntly. "Because of me," he continued, as his bravery at maintaining eye contact faded, and he lowered his head.

"No, that's not what happened," Sara was quick to assure him. "I've been suspended, with pay. Not because of you but because of whoever is responsible for all of this." Sara rose quickly and went round to Grissom's side of the table, and pulled out a chair next to him. She grabbed his hands, but knew better than to make him look at her. "Sweetheart you're far more important than work. I'm needed more here. Right now, my main priority is you and Daniel."

"It wasn't fair to suspend you," Grissom said vehemently. "They had no right to do that to you. You didn't do anything wrong."

"You're right. You're totally right. It was a completely rash decision, but thankfully, it wasn't suspension without pay. I argued I shouldn't be denied pay and benefits because I had done nothing criminally wrong, and Conrad conceded immediately. It wasn't even a fight," Sara said. "And at this point, the suspension actually helps. Like I said you and Daniel are my No. 1 priorities right now, and I would have taken Family Medical Leave to be home. But now I can save that so I could use it for another reason."

He looked down at their joined hands, his mouth twisting. While outwardly he was still angry at how she was treated, inwardly, he marvelled at her lack of bitterness, even seeing a silver lining. "Why would you need to save it?"

Sara smiled, but anything further she might have said was cut off by the sound of the doorbell.

"That's probably Wilbur," Sara stated, gently squeezing his hand supportively, before rising and answering the door.


	34. Chapter 34

_A/N: Another awesome beta by JellybeanChiChi, who also contributed to some of this chapter._

* * *

Chapter 33

When the door to the Grissom home was opened, Detectives Matty Foster and Tristan Bowden were surprised to see an unfamiliar face on the other side of the threshold.

"We're here to see prisoner Gil Grissom?" Foster said, ready to enter before invited.

But the man in the door frame wouldn't move. "Wilbur Jacobsen, attorney for Mr. Grissom."

"What a surprise to see a lawyer," Foster said, glaring at his partner who he suspected gave a heads up of their interview.

"It shouldn't be a surprise, detective. Someone accused of murder whose rights have been violated yet dismissed has every right to have representation present during questioning," Jacobsen's glance settled pointedly on Matty. "As you're both aware, my client has only recently been discharged from hospital. If, at any time, your questioning causes him any undue distress, or is becoming too much for him, I will end it."

"We'll keep that in mind, Mr. Jacobsen," Bowden acknowledged. "Can we come in?"

Before Jacobsen could respond, Matty cut in, with a baleful glare at his colleague. "This is a murder investigation. There are bound to be questions that cause him some 'distress,' but they need to be asked. Holding off the inevitable will only drag this out longer than it needs to. "

"Its exactly that attitude Detective Foster, that I am referring to," Wilbur asserted. "I will not allow you to needlessly pressure my client, is that understood?"

"He's lucky we're doing this at his home instead of down town," Foster said. "Don't tell us about concessions we have to make."

Sara had been listening from inside the house and knew Foster wouldn't stop his pissing match, so came behind Jacobsen. "Grissom's ready in the other room. If someone wants coffee…"

Bowden understood the tactic Sara was taking and took a step toward the house. "Thanks, Sara. But I'm OK."

While Bowden followed Sara inside the house, Foster gave Jacobsen one more stare before entering. With a smile, Jacobsen moved to his left, waited for the detective to pass and closed and locked the front door.

When he reached the living room, Foster glanced in Grissom's direction as the prisoner stood a couple of feet away from the couch. A bubble of cynical anger rose in his chest as he noticed, rather ironically, that Grissom had worn a navy blue LVPD t-shirt. _Prick_ , Foster thought. _Like he has the right to wear that shirt._

But as Foster drew closer, he was shocked by Grissom's appearance. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. His face was a stark white, which made the deep bruising on his face stand out in vivid detail. His lips were thinned with pain.

As Grissom limped closer to the couch to sit down, Foster noticed Grissom's eyes were downcast. He refused to hold eye contact with anyone in the room. When Foster had first met Grissom, the ex-CSI was a confidant man who looked people straight in the eye. It was a big contrast to the broken man he saw now.

With a grimace Grissom settled onto the couch. Sara made sure she sat to his right and helped him stretch out his left leg. She immediately grasped his hand in hers, and felt the slight tremble that resided there.

Jacobsen remained standing as the other two men took seats so they could monitor Grissom.

He kept his eyes downcast, the hand that Sara wasn't holding, rubbed nervously against the leg of his sweatpants.

"Grissom," Bowden started. "You OK to answer questions?"

Finally Grissom looked up, but only slightly. "Yes. Let's get this over with."

"Rory Dunbar is dead," Matty stated bluntly, capturing everyone's interest in an instant.

" _What!"_ Sara gasped, shocked. _"When?"_

Although Sara spoke, Bowden was watching Grissom's reaction. Clearly, the information shocked him. But coupled with his anxiety seemed to be an undercurrent of relief. "He was found dead yesterday at a motel in Desert View," Bowden said. "The Happy Lodge. You ever heard of that place, Grissom?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "You said you found him dead? How did it happen?"

"Stabbed in the thigh. Severed his femoral artery," Bowden said. "Tell me about Ellis Crossan."

"Who?"

"You don't know him?"

"I don't. No," Grissom said, he closed his eyes. With Dunbar dead, Sara and Daniel were safe. "He's dead. Rory's dead." He repeated the words to let them sink in. Could it be possible the nightmare was ending? "W-what does this mean, for me?" he asked, chancing a glance at both detectives.

Foster shrugged. "Nothing has changed, Grissom," he stated, and Grissom visibly slumped at his words. "Rory Dunbar's death changes nothing in regards to the charges you're facing. In fact, the more turns this investigation takes, the more dead bodies are turning up. You are still a suspect in Jake Sullivan's murder, not to mention the murder of David Fromansky."

"David Fromansky? What does he … I don't understand."

Again Bowden noticed the honest shock on Grissom's face. "When was the last time you spoke to Fromansky?"

The question clearly confused Grissom. "It's… it's been years. Four, five years ago. I don't even remember. Did you find him with Rory?"

"No. We found him with you… dead. Right next to you," Foster said.

"Where?"

"Come on, Grissom," Foster said, unable to disguise his disgust and frustration. "Cut the bullshit."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Grissom said, his eyes clearly focused on Foster and clearly filled with anger.

"Grissom," Tristan said, hoping to gain the man's attention. Grissom turned toward him. "The day you were found in the warehouse, you were on the floor unconscious in a room where David Fromansky's body was about four feet away from you. When you were in the warehouse, who did you see there with you?"

"Dunbar. He was the one… torturing me."

"And where was Fromansky?"

"I don't know," Grissom said agitated.

"Did you know he was working as a prison warden?"

"Fromansky? No." Bowden's information shocked Grissom into silence. Dunbar's words from the warehouse came into vivid life: _Grissom, you've pissed off people on both sides the law._ Fromansky had to be Dunbar's inside track to achieving the jailbreak. All Grissom could think about was who else on the side of law was involved.

"Gil, are you OK?"

Jacobsen's words broke Grissom's spell. He shook his head. This situation was spilling out of control. "I had no idea Fromansky was there," Grissom stated quietly, his fist clenching and unclenching nervously. "I haven't seen him for years. If you think I killed him, I didn't. And I didn't kill Jake. Everything that's been happening… it's all been Dunbar."

"It's funny how convenient it is you blame everything on a dead man," Foster said.

"It's not convenient, it's the truth," Grissom said, his breathing hitched as his panic increased. Although Dunbar's death meant his family was safe, it did nothing to help his case.

Bowden mentally chronicled Grissom's every reaction. "OK, Grissom, let's back up. What can you remember about the bus accident?"

"Yeah, tell us how you made that happen," Foster added, much to the annoyance of his partner.

The dig was not lost on Grissom. "I remember being jostled around a tin can, then pushed and thrown out of the wreckage. I remember hearing gunshots and seeing the transport put on a huge flatbed. Then I remember being in a lot of pain and thrown into a sedan."

"You said gunshots," Tristan repeated. "From where? From whom?"

"I didn't know what was happening, but Dunbar told me in the warehouse," Grissom said.

"While you two were sharing a cup of tea?" Foster said sarcastically.

"No," Grissom said. "While my hands were shackled over my head and he was punching me in the face and stomach."

"What did Dunbar tell you, Grissom?" Bowden asked.

Grissom looked at Bowden momentarily before putting a tired hand over his face and looking down at his lap. "That no one would find the bodies of the other prisoners and guards. And that the bus was scrapped for parts at a chop shop."

"And when he was talking to you… when you were shackled like that," Bowden started, "it was just you and Dunbar?"

"No. Hobson heard it too," Grissom said, his voice just above a whisper. "He was there. Watching. Apparently Dunbar summoned him to the warehouse."

"You know Grissom, it's curious how people that you have a problem with, or have a problem with you, have a nasty habit of turning up missing or dead," Foster observed, ignoring Grissom's quiet statement. "Take Tyler Darrow, for instance."

The change in Grissom was immediate. His throat constricted as he fought to breathe, as full panic seized him. Sweat peppered his sallow face, as tried to take a breath. Alarmed, Sara rubbed his arm and the thigh of his good leg. "Gil, just breathe, sweetheart. It's going to be okay."

Grissom's body continued to shake under her soothing hand as he shook his head. His breath whistled almost asthmatically through the pinhole his throat had become.

Despite Grissom's obvious discomfort, Foster pressed. "Darrow was Dunbar's brother, right? That's the brother you testified against at trial. He was sent to prison."

"T-Tyler D-Arrow was-was corrupt..." Grissom managed to gasp.

"Rory maintained that you'd set his set his brother up," Foster said. "We found video footage in Rory's room. You admitted on the tape you set Darrow up."

Although Sara had her attention on Grissom, she shot a queried glance up at Jacobsen. He saw it and shook his head, as they silently confirmed that neither one of them knew about any tape or any confession.

But Grissom knew exactly what Foster was talking about. He shook his head with his eyes screwed shut. His whole body shook and his face was covered in sweat. While his fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white, tears managed to leak from his eyes.

"It's time you owned up to the truth, Grissom."

"I… I never… Darrow… deserved prison."

"The tape tells a different story," Foster said.

Grissom wished Sara and Jacobsen weren't in the room. While they knew that Grissom had believed Daniel had been hurt, they weren't aware of the circumstances. If it had been left to Grissom, they would never have known.

"He… he forced me… to say those things."

"How?"

"I-I-I only … only said… that because …he-he-he … was threatening Daniel!" Grissom wheezed. "He had… the walkie talkie. …. There was-was… a sn-sniper. … Rory had a-a sn-sniper, ready to-to shoot Daniel!

"I … I said …what he wanted… but it wasn't… true. And then…" Grissom broke down, the memory too painful. "And… then he-he-he said… Take the shot. I-I-I… Daniel was dead."

Bowden looked at his partner who rolled his eyes at Grissom's teary reaction. While he knew Foster thought it was an act, Bowden wasn't so sure. He glanced at Jacobsen and feared the lawyer was ready to pounce on the moment and end the interview. "OK, Grissom. Take a moment. You need something? Maybe your lawyer and get you some water?"

Jacobsen warred whether to stop the interview now, but before the detectives arrived he talked to Grissom, who said he wanted to be the one who ended it. He saw Grissom seemed to calm slightly, so he abided his client's wishes. "I'll get a water bottle from the kitchen," Jacobsen said.

"Daniel's doing OK, right Sara?" Bowden asked sympathetically.

"Yeah, he is," she answered, glad to be invited to voice that. "He's doing really well. Crawling all over the place. Probably has my mother-in-law chasing him around."

Bowden smiled. "That's what they do."

Jacobsen returned with the water, and Grissom took a couple of swigs then gave it back to his lawyer.

"You better?" Bowden asked, receiving a nod. "You mentioned that walkie talkie. Did you hear someone on the other end of it?"

"Yes. The guy who was supposed to be the … the sn-sniper."

Bowden nodded as he wrote notes. "Grissom, we need some help here. What happened between you and Tyler, for Rory to be so convinced that you set his brother up?"

"He isn't the first to holler 'set-up' where your name is concerned, Grissom," Foster interjected, not appreciating the respite his partner offered. "How many more have there been?"

"N-none!" Grissom gasped. "Ty-Tyler was-was a dangerous lunatic. He… his evidence tampering was the reason a dangerous suspect went free, and it wasn't the first time that had happened."

"You'll have to do better than that, Grissom. Tyler is one in a string of men connected to you who are dead."

Foster's words and tone triggered a memory Grissom had long buried. Sitting on the living room sofa, Tyler Darrow's voice screamed in his subconscious: " _You're too cocky for your own good, Gilbert. One day, it's going to bite you on the ass. And the precious evidence you have so much faith in is going to let you down."_

That day and much more had arrived. Foster wasn't going to concede anything.

It was an attitude Jacobsen realized and could no longer ignore. "I don't like your tone, Detective Foster," Jacobsen said, as he joined Sara and Grissom on the sofa, taking extra care of Grissom's bad knee. "I'm ending this -"

"No," Grissom gasped. "While it's true, that I set the-the ball in motion, that sent Tyler to prison, he did enough damage to himself to seal his fate. But I-I never expected him to die in prison. I … never even considered that."

Grissom paused, focusing on calming his breathing. He recognized for this nightmare to truly be over, he had to expose the truth of what happened. If, like Tyler Darrow predicted, evidence would fail Grissom, perhaps the truth could somehow lead to a "safer" prison life than the one he'd already faced. It was the most he could hope for.

"I was twenty-three when I first met Tyler," Grissom began slowly. "I'd been a rookie CSI for seven months. Tyler and I had worked a number of cases in that time. Cops don't usually consider the evidence when they stomp through a crime scene. Tyler was different.

"We'd worked a triple shift on a serial case. A suspect had killed three members of the same family. I covered the scene, and the evidence wasn't collaborating with the what the crime scene was saying, so I took my concerns to Philip Gerard. He put it down to fatigue and sent me home."

"Whose Philip Gerard?" Bowden asked.

"My supervisor in Minnesota."

"He still around?"

"He does consulting work now," Grissom said. "But yes, he still works."

"OK, continue."

"I went home, but something was off and I just couldn't settle, so I went back to the lab. I spent hours going through the evidence and test results. I called Tyler. He brushed off my concerns, but the certainty that something was wrong, just wouldn't go away," Grissom continued. "After more digging, I eventually realized the evidence led to Tyler. He wasn't interested in preserving evidence like I thought; he was interested in manipulating it."

"So you went back to your supervisor?" Bowden asked.

"Yes, and was immediately removed from the case since I was a rookie," Grissom said. "Philip called in IA to run their own investigation. Tyler was arrested, and everything came out. He'd been meddling with evidence for years, long before I was ever in Minnesota. What I'd discovered on my own was just the tip of the iceberg. He'd been recruiting criminals and offering them protection for years."

"You were called to testify?"

"Yes at his trial," Grissom said. "That was the first time his family approached me. They begged me….begged me to stop my persecution to think of his pregnant wife and his two sons."

"They wanted you to lie?"

Grissom shook his head. "I'm not sure they could ever believe what I was saying was the truth. They thought Tyler was an upstanding cop and a great person who was simply trying to provide for his family, but he wasn't. He was a thieving, dangerous man with a badge. God knows the damage he would have done if he continued," Grissom rubbed his face again. "They … they accused me of being arrogant and pompous, that I was misjudging Tyler. But the evidence against him was solid, and there was no way that he could escape a prison sentence, with or without my testimony."

"He got 15 years," Foster said.

"Yeah, the family blamed me for that."

"When did he kill himself?" Bowden asked.

"Maybe a year into his stay. I had heard he was arguing with his attorneys about an appeal, and he killed himself," Grissom said, his voice trailing off. "I know what I did was the right thing, but I wish I had been more empathetic to his family. I was their scapegoat, and, I don't know, maybe a kind word would have helped. … Or maybe not… My investigation might have helped send him to prison, but I neither expected nor wanted him to die."

Tiredness consumed Grissom. His head was pounding and his knee had become increasingly uncomfortable. His body ached, and he wanted nothing more than to lay down.

"I need to stop. I'm tried," he said, struggling to his feet.

"You're still a prisoner, Grissom," Matty replied. "This is over when I say it's over."

Tense, Grissom closed his eyes, his hand on the cane shaking, as the thought _I'll never stop being a prisoner_ ran amok in his head.

"I've...I've answered...all your questions...Detective..."

Foster rose to his feet, and the others followed his lead.

"You know, maybe you should continue to revisit how pompous you can be, Grissom," Foster said.

Grissom stopped and turned around. "What?"

"I find it a little ironic and quite insulting that you'd have the audacity of ever wearing an LVPD shirt, considering what you've done in the past couple of months. "

A sudden bravado swept over Grissom. His fury colored his normally blue eyes to almost black. Tapping into a rage that gave him a modicum of strength, Grissom somehow took off the t-shirt and threw it at Foster.

"Take it!" Grissom hissed weakly.

Foster's eyes widened on seeing the deep bruising and burn marks that covered Grissom's torso. Bowden took a step toward Grissom as he watched the man turn pale and sway. While he was ready to help steady him, Jacobsen and Sara were at his side.

The strength he had seconds before had dissipated leaving Grissom in utter pain in its wake. He bit back a groan of agony as he slumped against Jacobsen.

"Can I help?" Bowden asked.

"We got him," Jacobsen declared with authority. "My client is a great deal of pain, and needs to rest."

Before Foster could say another word, Bowden grabbed his partner's arm. "We'll see ourselves out."

Sara nodded, not wanting to waste any more time in getting Grissom upstairs in bed.

The detectives watched the trio retreat up the stairs. Foster's face twisted with uncertainty. He cracked his neck from side to side trying to garner his own bravado. "Quite a show he put on, don't you think?"

Bowden looked at his partner with disdain. He reached down and grabbed the LVPD shirt at his partner's feet. "I think you got that wrong, Matty." Bowden folded the shirt and put it back upon the couch. "Let's go. We have work to do."


	35. Chapter 35

_A/N: If i could have a favorite, favorite chapter, this would be it. I just love this chapter so much, even though it made me want to weep. An AWESOME beta, by JellybeanChiChi. Thanks as always for your continued support and reviews. Each and very one is very much appreciated . I hope you "love" this chapter as much as I do._

* * *

Chapter 34

Grissom's show of bravado in front of the detectives had left him feeling weak and in pain. The sallow tint to his face had alarmed Sara. While she had plenty she had wanted to say to Matty Foster, Grissom's needs at that moment had come first.

Once she and Jacobsen had made Grissom as comfortable as he could be on the bed, Wilbur put a gentle hand on Sara's forearm. "I'll see myself out. If you need anything, I am a phone call away. Don't hesitate in calling."

Sara gave the attorney a smile of thanks and stayed with Grissom. But a worried, anxious look on his face made her pause.

"What is it?" Sara asked. "Pain pill?"

"The door… It needs to be locked…"

Sara nodded. "I'll be right back."

While Sara had no doubt Wilbur would have made sure the lock on the door knob was secure, the dead bolt need to be secured from the inside. She rushed down the stairs and locked the door, then headed to the kitchen to bring up some of the breakfast he hadn't eaten.

After persuading Grissom to finally eat something — three pieces of the fruit salad — she'd given him some pain medication, and stayed with him until he drifted off.

While he slept, Sara had spent the last few hours puttering around the house awaiting her mother-in-law who was due to bring Daniel and Hank back. She finished a shopping list, making sure to add the new sweats and shirts for Grissom, before she went back upstairs. She knocked lightly on their bedroom door, not wanting to startle Grissom, or disturb him if he were still sleeping.

Entering their room, she realized that he was awake, and he looked a little better than he had before. She smiled gently as she sat down carefully on the bed next to him. She took his hand in hers, playing with his fingers, absently. "Your mother and Daniel should be back in a half hour. Do you want some help getting changed?"

He shrugged. "I'll be okay," he said quietly, not looking at her, but focusing instead on her hand, playing with his fingers. "But….thanks," he added as an after thought.

"Okay, sweetheart," Sara offered him a small smile. "But if you change your mind, I'm right here," she continued, letting him know that he did have a choice – something that he had been denied over the last few months.

Biting his bottom lip, he gave a small nod, keeping his eyes downcast. He looked so forlorn and disheartened, that Sara reached out to him in a way she hadn't yet. Wanting him to know that he wasn't alone. She leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips.

She felt him tense immediately, and a brief spark of fear speared her heart. But it thankfully vanished as he returned her kiss for just a second before he pulled away.

His eyes captured and held hers for a few seconds, before he glanced down again.

"Sara..." he swallowed heavily, as his emotions threatened to overpower him. "Don't make this any harder than it needs to be..."

She threaded her fingers through his, and gave their joined hands a gentle but firm squeeze.

"You think this is the end?"

"Nothing's changed."

"This is not the end for us, Gil," she said firmly. "I, nor Wilbur, are going to give up on proving you didn't do this."

Grissom sighed and shook his head as he pulled his hand free of hers, and Sara felt something shift between them. She could feel that he was pulling away more from her than just his hand.

Not wanting to start a fight, with Betty's arrival imminent, Sara pushed down her doubts and fears. Her support and compassion for him needed to be constant. She hid the hurt she felt and rose to her feet. "I'll let you get changed. But if you change your mind, just call me." She hesitated at the bedroom door, unable to pass another opportunity to reach out to him. She glanced over her shoulder at him. "I love you, Gil, and nothing is going to stop me for fighting for you and our family."

With that, she quietly left him to get ready.

* * *

Ten minutes before Betty knocked on the door, Sara heard Grissom come downstairs, and disappear outside into the rear garden. Sara fought the urge to follow him, but realized he might need this time to prepare for his mother's arrival.

While Sara had kept Betty updated about Gil's condition, it would be the first time Betty would see her son's injuries, and Sara wanted to prepare her mother-in-law, for what she would see.

Her anxiety over the reunion grew, when Betty finally knocked on the door, and taking a deep breath, she opened the door, with what she hoped wasn't a fake smile.

Immediately, Betty handed Sara three Tupperware containers, and Sara felt some of the tension fade as she spied Betty's pecan ginger cake, buttermilk scones and pine nut cookies.

" _Just a little something special to welcome Gil home,"_ Betty signed with a bright smile. _"Thought it would help while he recovers."_

Sara signed her _thank you_ , before putting the three containers on the table by the door. While Sara went to unbuckle Daniel from his car seat, Betty motioned towards the car. _"Better you handle what's in the back seat,"_ Betty signed.

The familiar face plastered against the backseat window made Sara smile wide. She opened the door to have a very excited pup greet her. His tail wagged exuberantly as he followed her to the house.

Once inside, with Hank at her feet, Betty passed Daniel to Sara. Daniel babbled excitedly on seeing his mother, and Sara breathed in his baby smell, and hugged him to her, feeling her self relax even further, now that he was home.

" _How is Gil?"_ Betty asked as she watched Sara cuddle her son. " _How is he really?"_

Holding Daniel on her hip, she quickly signed her reply. Informing Betty of what she could expect, knowing that it would still be a shock to the older woman. Sara's sign language wasn't as fluid as it could be, but she mouthed her sentences while she signed key words. In pain. Sad. Scared. Nervous.

When Hank saw Grissom step into the front room, the boxer bounded forward before Sara could offer a warning.

"Hank, no!" Sara shouted, but the dog had skittered to a halt just inches away from Grissom. He could sense something wasn't quite right with his master. His nose quivered inquisitively, as he shuffled forwards, his tail tucked between his legs but still wagging a mile a minute, as he half crawled towards his master.

Grissom smiled sadly, unable to bend down far enough to give the boxer's ears an affectionate rub. So Hank settled instead for a thorough licking of Grissom's outstretched fingers.

Tension coursed thorough Grissom as he felt his mother stepped forward. He swallowed nervously as he looked at her briefly, then away. But Betty moved closer, and touched his arm to gain his attention once more. With a sense of resignation, he took a steadying breath before looking up again.

Betty had always prided herself on being a strong, independent woman. Raising a young boy on her own, she'd had no other choice. But seeing her son battered and bruised, brought tears to her eyes.

Grissom bit his bottom lip, feeling his own eyes fill with tears as his mother reached out and gently caressed his cheek.

" _My poor darling boy,"_ she signed, with a slight shake of her head. _"Just what have they done to you!"_

"Mom, don't _,"_ Grissom spoke as a single tear ran down his cheek. He visibly gathered himself, offering her a bleak smile. He gathered her hands in his, with a gentle squeeze before he released them. This time he signed, _"I'd like to say it looks worse than it feels, but... I can't."_

Betty's face was bleak but she mustered up a bleak smile. " _That's OK, son. You'll heal. Sara and I are with you. We will give you_ _plenty of love and care._ _You_ _will feel much better, in no time. Don't give up. Don't turn away."_

Sara had kept back so that Grissom and his mother had some time to themselves. But when she stepped forward with Daniel in her arms, Daniel couldn't hold his excitement as he saw his daddy. Daniel kicked his legs wildly and wiggled excitedly as he leaned forward in Sara's arms. He outstretched his own arms towards Grissom. "Dada! Dada!"

He knew the scene should have filled him with unconditional joy, yet Grissom's face fell and he was filled with a despair far more painful than that of his numerous injuries. As he looked away from his son, he felt the tears prick his eyes once more, and he bit his bottom lip, hard.

"I...I can't...hold him," he ground out, his voice cracking. "I… I-I ... .can't ... I'm sorry… I can't do this."

His head low, he turned and headed back up stairs, without another word.

Sara hugged Daniel a little closer to her, burying her face into his small body. She should have realized sooner that he wouldn't be able to hold their son, with the pain in his shoulders and the bruising on his torso, but she hadn't anticipated he would react as he did. She wanted to scream her anguish loud, but instead, she settled for relishing the feel of her brown-eyed baby boy being back in her arms once more.

A tap on her arm broke her from her thoughts. Betty offered her daughter-in-law a tissue for the tears flowing down Sara's face. With Daniel still on her shoulder, Sara took the tissue and dabbed her eyes. She spoke her thanks.

Betty nodded, speaking to Sara. "Don't give up hope, dear. This is not forever."

Sara nodded, but Betty could see her daughter-in-law still needed convincing. She gestured for the trio to sit on the couch. After Betty sat down, Sara set Daniel upon her lap and went to get his blanket and play set to put on the floor. After she arranged his special play area, Betty placed the toddler down. Soon, Hank laid down near Daniel.

Betty saw the love Sara had for her baby. She looked her over, and tapped on her arm.

Sara looked up, an immediate look of apology on her face. "I'm sorry, Betty, I've offered you nothing to drink…"

"I won't let him be like this forever," Betty said with resilience. "And neither will you."

The two women, who had so much love for the same man, shared a knowing smile. Betty's words gave Sara both hope and strength.

" _Thank you for being here,"_ Sara signed.

" _Of course,"_ Betty signed, before gathering Sara's hands in her own. She gave the younger woman's hand an affectionate squeeze. She looked at her as she spoke. "You said he had lost weight, but I'm surprised just how much."

"I need to get him new clothes," Sara said. "Sweatpants and button-down shirts. With his shoulders and that knee, those will work easier for him. It's too painful for him to take a car ride, much less walk around a store. But I don't really want to leave him alone in the house."

Betty gestured for Sara to head to the door. " _I can stay here with him and Daniel,_ " Betty signed immediately, but Sara shook her head.

" _You've already done so much, taking care of Daniel for so long."_

" _I'm happy to help out, Sara,"_ Betty silently admonished. " _There's no reason to do everything yourself, especially now. It gives you a chance to get out of the house without worrying about Gil. And it gives me some time with him. I could even make a start on dinner. It's really not an issue, Sara."_

Sara had to admit, she could use some time away from the house. Betty had been the only one who offered to help lately. Sara knew she would be lost without her. _"Gil always said you were amazing,"_ Sara signed.

Betty blushed and signed, _"He says the same about you."_

Feeling renewed, Sara stood up and spoke to her mother-in-law. "I'm going to take you up on the offer." The statement made Betty smile. "But first I want to take care of Hank so that he won't bother you and get some food ready for your lunch and anything Daniel might need."

"Sounds like a plan, dear," Betty agreed aloud.

* * *

About a half hour later, Hank had been walked and cared for and Sara had made some small sandwiches for Betty, and dare she hoped, Grissom. She ran upstairs to wash up before heading out the door, giving Daniel a kiss and blowing a kiss to her mother-in-law.

Betty went to the kitchen to eat and fed Daniel some freshly made sweet potatoes Sara had pureed. Noticing her grandson forcing his eyes to stay open as he ate some Cheerios, Betty picked him up and took the slow sojourn up the stairs.

She knocked before entering her son's bedroom, and found him resting on the bed on his right side. Seeing that he didn't move when she entered, she went to the other side of the bed so her son wouldn't have to turn.

Although he had his eyes closed, she knew he wasn't asleep. Despite being 51 years old, Gilbert Grissom still had the same tactics of avoiding situations as he did as a small child. She continually tapped him on the arm, gently but unceasingly, until he opened his eyes.

Finally, he did, with a look of annoyance on his face. Again, after five decades, it was a face Betty Grissom was well familiar with.

" _How are you?"_ she signed

" _I hurt,"_ he quickly signed back.

" _I'm sorry."_

Grissom shrugged, wincing as he did.

Betty gestured that she wanted to sit on the bed, so Grissom slowly sat up. Before she sat down at the edge near Grissom's legs, she placed Daniel by his father.

" _You and Daniel have missed enough time together."_

" _I can't take care of him, Mom,"_ Grissom signed with a sense of panic washing over him at the thought he might not be quick enough if Daniel were to take a tumble. _"What if he falls?"_

" _You'll catch him."_

" _But I can't."_ Grissom's signs and expression were pained and adamant.

The sentiment was not lost on Betty. But instead of getting angry, she gently rubbed his leg. Grissom watched as his mother was silent. He could tell she was lost in a memory. After a moment he tapped her arm and signed, _"Mom, I…"_

But Betty silenced his hands and signed her own thoughts. _"_ _I wasn't given much of a choice when your father died. I cared for you the best I could. And you didn't have a choice either. You have time now to connect with Daniel. As you heal you will be glad of the time you get to spend with him. I won't allow you to give up on your son, Gilbert."_

Grissom repeated his protest. _"I can't take care of him, Mom,"_

" _Yes you can,"_ Betty signed encouragingly. " _And you will."_

She put a frail hand upon his head and dragged her fingers in his curls. She smiled at him lovingly. Then, Grissom watched helplessly as his mother exited the room, leaving Daniel on the bed with him. Daniel scooted unsteadily towards him, before settling down in front of his father. Grissom watched closely, as Daniel became engrossed in the buttons of his shirt, a frown of concentration on the small face that was the mirror image of his own.

Grissom shifted, biting his bottom lip against the pain in his knee and the sharp twinge that lanced across his back and shoulders.

"Well, I guess it's just you and me, Cricket," Grissom said in a low voice.

Daniel's head bobbed up at the mention of "Cricket," his dark eyes held a contemplative look that was out of place on one so young. Slowly, his mouth widened into a smaller version of his mother's perfect smile.

Grissom could clearly see the changes already taking shape as Daniel grew from babyhood to toddler. He was growing much too fast for Grissom's liking. He'd lost so much time with him, and believed that he'd miss so much more. His time with his son was growing shorter by the day.

"You know, I never expected to be anyone's father," Grissom stated, as Daniel, turned his attention to his beloved ant, before snuggling closer to his father, and resting his head on his chest, sucking mightily on his pacifier.

The action brought tears to Grissom's eyes, as he brought his left arm around to cradle the small body.

Swallowing once more, and keeping his voice low, Grissom spoke again.

"I thought I was happy with just my own company. I had a job I loved, and work was enough for me. There were a few relationships scattered through the years. They never lasted long. Either because of my job, or I managed to mess things up. Or both. Either way, it wasn't a big deal. I figured that a wife and family just weren't on the cards for me. I was happy and content on my own.

"Then I met your mommy and she turned everything upside down. For the first time, I felt completely off balance. She understood me in a way no one else ever had. And she never judged me. She scared me so much, how she made me feel. You see, I'm a lot older than mommy. That hasn't ever been a problem for her, but it was for me, for a long time. She could so easily have anyone she wanted, and although I love her very much, I was afraid that one day she'd see me as a tired old man, realize she made a mistake and leave.

"Or there was always the possibility I would do something really stupid to upset or hurt her, and she'd leave. I wouldn't blame her for leaving me. But I'd be hopelessly lost without her.

"She gave me far too many chances than I deserved, because she loves me as much as I do her. When she told me I was going to be your daddy, I got scared all over again. Scared, because, until that moment I hadn't really wanted to be a daddy – at least I thought I didn't. I still didn't feel quite ready. Mommy got very scared too, because she thought she might not be a very good mommy. But she's a great mommy, isn't she?"

Daniel continued to suck his pacifier, lulled by the sound of his father's voice. Grissom sighed as he absentmindedly stroked Daniel's hair.

"I used to tell her what a great mommy she would be, but she never believed me. It took you being born, for her to finally believe it."

Grissom let out a deep sigh. He was lost in his own thoughts. "Because I'm so much older than mommy, I was scared because I was afraid that I might not be able to watch you grow, and Mommy would have took after you on her own. Like my mom. Your grandmother. She's the tricky lady who still nags daddy like he's 14. Mommy will probably do that to you, too, Daniel."

Although he tried to smile, Grissom just couldn't muster a moment of happiness. The cloud of his future, which he believed was nothing but a bleak life in a 6-foot by 9-foot cell, made him too sad to fight for hope. "I've ruined things for us, Daniel. I've let something bad happen to us and now, I'm not… I'm not going to be around to watch you grow..."

Grissom's voice faltered as emotions overwhelmed him. He swallowed around the impossible lump in his throat, and a solitary tear ran down his cheek. He bit his lip as he gently rubbed his son's back.

"You see, people think... I did a bad thing, and that I hurt someone a lot. I didn't. I swear to you, son. I didn't. But people, even my friends, don't believe that. So, I'm going to be sent away to a bad place. I don't want to leave you or mommy. You could come visit me, but that would just make things harder for mommy and you because I wouldn't be able to come home with you. It will hurt me too, because I'll miss you both very much."

Grissom paused, his chest constricting, as he tried to fight back against the tears, his heart completely breaking.

"I...I need... I need you to grow up and look out for mommy. I... need you to be there for her, even when she says she's fine. Sometimes…sometimes, she doesn't want anyone to worry about her. I want... I need you to be brave, especially when people tell you about the bad things they think I did."

Looking down at his son, a sense of pride filled Grissom. He could imagine the young man he would be. Smart. Considerate. But without a father, something that filled Grissom with shame.

"I'm glad that I got to be your daddy, for even just a short time. I'm sorry I'll never get to teach you about bugs and baseball … ride roller coasters together. But most of all, I'm sorry I messed things up for you and Mommy. When you're old enough to understand … I hope … you can forgive me."

Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he wiped a hand quickly across his face. He saw Daniel had fallen asleep, his breathing relaxed and the pacifier hanging loosely from his mouth. He carefully bent to pick up Daniel and cradled him next to him, making sure the boy was comfortable on a pillow. Fighting back a sob, Grissom ran a finger gently over his son's soft cheek.

"Don't hate me, Daniel," he whispered desperately. "That place will be so much harder to bare, if I thought you hated me."


	36. Chapter 36

_A/N: An amazing chapter, written entirely by co-author JellybeanChiChi! This story really wouldn't be what it is without her help and support. Thanks for all your reviews, comments and PM's._

* * *

CHAPTER 35

Despite the week long deadline clock set by Ladd Sayers hinging on finding Grissom as guilty of a jailbreak and subsequent disappearances and deaths of those involved, Karson Hess was moving farther and farther away from that conclusion.

He knew the assistant district attorney would cry foul and possibly rein hell on the day shift supervisor for categorizing Grissom as a victim and not a perpetrator, there was no denying the lack of evidence supporting Sayers' claim. And Hess wasn't the only person in law enforcement who believed that. After detectives Bowden and Foster finished an interview with Grissom, they shared their impressions with Hess. Foster was still on the fence about Grissom's innocence in the breakout.

But Bowden called his own partner out. "You're being stubborn about this Matty and not looking at this objectively," he said as he sat in Hess's office a couple of hours after the interview.

"You're the one not being objective. Just because the guy looked like shit doesn't mean our sympathies should say he's innocent," Foster countered.

"It has nothing to do with sympathy," Bowden said. "We went to his prison. The only possible connection he had to Dunbar while in prison was the guy who beat the shit out of him twice. We talked to the warden. We talked to some guards on his block. All of them said the same thing, he kept to himself with little to no interaction with others, save three fights — one that put him in the hole and two that landed him into the infirmary, where medics said he had zero interaction with inmates. So when the hell and how the hell was he supposed to plan a breakout?"

"There's still the lawyer," Foster said.

"And all logic is pointing toward him working against Grissom and for Dunbar, who probably masterminded the breakout with the assistant warden at his own prison," Bowden said. "Come on, Matty. If we want to know what truly happened to that bus and those missing prisoners and guards, then we have got to move in a different direction."

Hess totally agreed with the assessment. And while he was getting pressure from Sayers to implicate Grissom, the visit to the prison reminded the detectives there are families and coworkers who desperately wanted information on the five missing guards and prisoners. It was paramount to uncover the truth than carry out what seemed to be a politically fueled vendetta by an attorney.

Although still more than willing to play devil's advocate, Foster had to admit it was a stretch to think Grissom parlayed such a complicated plan by himself from his prison cell. Grissom's interview didn't answer many questions, but it mapped out other avenues for investigation.

Those beatings Grissom received in prison served as a catalyst for him being put on that bus with Dunbar in the first place so the detectives wanted to return to the prison and talk to Tait Darrow.

They wanted to question Ellis Crossan, the prison guard found with Rory's dead body, to see if he would talk and question him on a hunch Bowden had: whether he was the voice of the sniper Grissom heard on the other end of the walkie talkie. They also wanted to know information about who took the bus on a flat bed, and along with asking Crossan about that, Foster wanted to put feelers out to fellow officers from nearby locations who might work cases involving chop shops. A chop shop that takes in a prison bus might be rare enough to have a red flag.

While their searches thus far for Hobson Nash had been fruitless, they didn't want to give up finding him. He seemed to be a big key in the investigation.

But there was another key to the investigation that Hess wanted to research further — David Fromansky. Hess felt like he and Nick were close to finding a breakthrough piece of evidence involving Fromansky.

Or maybe it was just Hess' personal desire to find that nugget of evidence in a case that had too many loose ends.

Both he and Nick thought they were close to a breakthrough in both their cases with the analysis of one piece of evidence — Grissom's boots that were used to crush Jake's neck. Fromansky's foot was bigger than Grissom's, which meant he might have not worn socks which might have meant skin cells were left inside the boot.

Nick had opened the boots to swab for DNA on the inside of the boot. He became elated when he noticed a small blood droplet on the inside toe, possibly from someone breaking a toenail or busting a blister. It would have been easier to leave that blood drop without a sock then with a sock.

That was a positive sign. That made Nick jog to the DNA lab.

But the DNA didn't test positive for Fromansky. Nor did it match any DNA in CODIS, the Combined DNA Index System.

It was a letdown, especially for the Texan. But Karson found the findings significant because there shouldn't be any alternative DNA in the boot at all. Any swab of the inside of the boot should have pointed to Grissom.

And that's what led Karson Hess back to David Fromansky's condo. Karson was convinced that Fromansky was connected not just to the breakout but to Jake Sullivan's death as well. The breakout couldn't happen unless Grissom was in prison. And that couldn't occur unless Grissom was charged with a crime.

Karson never lost sight of the fact that it was still possible that Grissom killed Jake. Thinking Rory Dunbar masterminded a murder to frame someone else and then break both that person and himself out of prison was something out of a crime show novel.

But Dunbar had masterminded Sara's kidnapping, and old habits of revenge die hard.

Looking around Fromansky's place, Karson hoped to find some connections to characters Fromansky made reference to in a journal Karson found under a floorboard. There were references to someone he called "The Lion," another as "Wache" and two others listed each as "HD" and "The Cleaner." Karson had no idea if these were the same person or four different people, but Fromansky notated conversations with "The Lion" and meetings with "The Cleaner," "Wache" and "HD." He even notated a location he met "HD," which Karson discovered was a park in Silverado Ranch, an up-and-coming condo community that catered to upwardly mobile young professionals.

The CSI hoped Fromansky's impressive collection of framed photos might yield familiar faces that would pinpoint who were The Lion, Wache and HD. While Fromansky was always the central focus of the photos, maybe someone in the background would be a clue. He had already done a preliminary check of people under the name "Wache" who might have a connection to Fromansky, the name made Karson recall his German lessons as a lad: die Wache was the German word for "sentry" or "guard."

Could Ellis Crossan be in the background of some of the photos?

Karson took his time examining the photos, tagging some of them for evidence to take a closer look in the lab. After two hours of scanning, he could feel his eyes begin to dry, but out of the corner of his eye he saw a 5x7 photo frame partially hidden between two others on an end table. Fromansky surrounded by several other motorcycle enthusiasts. There had to be at least two-dozen men and women in the shot.

But Karson's eye went directly the top right of the photo. With a sigh, he carefully took out the photo from the frame and looked on the back. It was dated from two years prior. Bike fest in Daytona Beach, Florida. He put both the photo and frame in an evidence bag to examine closer in the lab.

Checking his watch, Karson gathered his findings and went to his SUV. Nick asked him to accompany him to a hotel restaurant off the strip where he discovered Jake had spent a lot of money a couple of different nights before his death.

Although there were no red flags on Jake's personal credit cards or bank accounts that showed excessive spending while he was in Vegas, Nick discovered Jake had the use of a company credit card from the Seattle lab. A statement from the lab showed Jake had frequented the restaurant several times during his week long stint in Vegas. But while many of the charges were moderate, two nights showed bills close to $300 each, which might have meant excessive drinking and eating by more than one person.

Nick wondered if maybe Fromansky had met up with Jake. They couldn't find a direct connection with the two, so it was a long shot. Yet, Nick thought it might be worth going to the restaurant during a lull of the day and showing photos of Jake and Fromansky to jog staffers' memories.

Karson didn't mind meeting Nick there at all. But since he had a little spare time, he phoned Nick from the car with another suggestion. "Hey, it's Karson. You want to meet at the lab and drive in together?"

"I thought you wanted to drive straight them from Fromansky's?" Nick's voice filled the car thanks to the blue tooth. "That would mean you're going south to go north."

"Yeah, but I have some stuff to drop at the lab."

"Anything interesting?" Nick asked.

"It might," Karson said. "I'll show you at the lab."

"OK. Whatever works, boss," Nick said. "I got Fromansky's and Jake's photos and file with me."

"Good," Karson said. "There are a few other photos and files I want to take with us."

* * *

Although its name was ubiquitous; The Steak House had its own personality. Not too dark, but not lit up like a hospital room. The smells of a good meal floated inside the restaurant but was not overbearing. Seating arrangements ranged to accommodate large parties or cozy dining for a couple, trio or quartet.

Just as Nick predicted, there was a lull in the number of patrons in the restaurant and at the bar. After introducing themselves to the server, who got her manager, Nick and Karson made their way to the bar to speak with a bartender who usually worked the night shift on the weekdays in question.

"Flora Cortez?" Nick asked of the woman behind the bar. "You mind if we ask you a few questions?"

The woman in her mid-thirties had a pleasant look on her face. She looked neither nervous or put out from a couple of law enforcement people taking some time out of her day. The thinnish brunette with a modicum of curves reminded Nick of a younger version of a friend.

"Yeah, you got a few minutes to spare?" Nick asked.

"It's slow. You picked the right time, I'm sure on purpose," Flora said with a knowing chuckle. "You guys want something to drink?"

"We're good, thanks."

"Let me get a soda for myself and we'll sit over there to talk." Flora pointed to a table away from both patrons and staffers. She came over and sat down across from the two men. "So, who are we gonna talk about?"

"A few people. But specifically of someone we knew patronized here back at the end of April," Nick started.

Flora laughed. "Well, I hope this person was memorable because that's asking a lot to remember someone from two months ago."

"We're hoping he did," Nick said, pulling out a photo of Jake. "He was here six times in seven days by himself, although we think with others at least two of those days."

The bartender looked at the photo and shook her head, a look that made Nick purse his lips in frustration. But then, his expression changed as she spoke.

"You're in luck. He made an impression," Flora said.

"A good one?" Nick asked.

"Does my face and tone make it seem like it was a good one?" Flora asked sarcastically.

"No," Nick said. "So tell us about it."

"He liked brunettes and flirted … a lot," Flora said. "I cannot tell you how many times he tried to impress me by saying he was working a big, important case. Kept saying he was law enforcement. Was that bullshit?"

"No he was law enforcement."

"Was?" Flora said taking a sip of her soda. "Interesting. He looked like the kind of guy who would find trouble."

"Was he aggressive towards anyone?" Karson asked.

"No. If he was he would have been outta here. Fortunately, managers don't have patience for that kind of stuff."

"Then why'd you make the comment?"

Flora took another sip from the straw. "You know how you can pick up on that 'just under the surface' anger vibe. And like I said he flirted a lot and was kind of … aggressive about it."

"But he wasn't specifically aggressive towards you?" Karson asked.

"Nothing I couldn't handle in here, but annoying and too much and let's just say I asked some guys from the back to walk me to my car after shift," she said. "He just gave off this vibe. Desperate. Maybe could be violent. In a place like this, and just being in Vegas in general, puts you on guard, you know?"

"Yeah, we can understand that. It's smart," Nick said.

"Besides, even though he was hitting on me, he was trying to get with someone he was working with."

"Who was that?"

Flora shrugged. "I never heard a name but his cop friend was pushing him to pursue her. The more they drank, the more they talked. And they drank a lot."

"So whenever he came here he was with someone?"

Flora thought for a moment. "No. Usually he was by himself. But there were a couple of nights where that guy was with him. And then another night he and some woman."

"So the other guy was law enforcement?"

"That's what he said," Flora said. "When it was the two of them they kept saying, 'Hey baby. You never have to worry about anything when we're around. We're like superheroes."

Nick pulled out photos of Fromansky and, just to eliminate him as a suspect, Grissom as well. "Was the other guy either of these guys?"

"Neither," Flora answered quickly. "Those guys don't look familiar. The guy with him was definitely younger. And trimmer."

Nick nodded and pulled out the guard's photo — Ellis Crossan. "This guy?"

Flora took a critical look, but shook her head. "No. Sorry. Don't recognize him."

Nick gave a look towards Karson, who opened up a file of his own. But before he could offer a photo to Flora, she pointed to two of them. "This one was his drinking buddy, and as far as aggressive flirting went, she gave your guy a run for his money."


	37. Chapter 37

_A/N: Another awesome beta by JellybeanChiChi_

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Chapter 36

Grissom had become restless over the past few days. More so since the news of Rory's death.

Conrad had recalled the police that had been watching the house. As far as law enforcement were concerned, that threat was as dead as Rory. Sara wondered if that was completely true. They might be safe from a direct threat from him, but what about the people that were still out there? Jake's killer was still free after all.

Sara still felt like she and her husband walked on eggshells with one another. So one morning when she discovered her wayward husband silently brooding in the garage she tried to gauge her entrance correctly.

He was staring at the bugs that he'd housed there since Daniel's birth. She made a show of announcing her presence so she wouldn't startle him. He turned his head in her direction, a brief acknowledgement of her presence, then returned to his silent study of his bugs.

"Need some help with feeding?" she'd asked, with a slight smile, rubbing his arm gently. "We could do it together?"

He immediately stepped away from her grasp, shaking his head. "I've done what I can manage. It won't matter soon anyway. I've made inquires, and there are a few buyers that might be interested in acquiring a few species."

Sara was shocked by his statement. "Gil, there's no need to sell anything. These are a part of who you are, honey. I really don't mind helping out. It's going to take a bit of time before you heal, but you will."

Grissom closed his eyes, trying to keep his rising temper in check as he tapped his cane agitatedly against the garage floor. He rubbed distractedly at his forehead. His head was pounding, dully.

"It's just going to be easier, Sara!" he snapped, as he turned and headed towards the kitchen, before heading in the direction of his office.

Sara uttered a small, frustrated sigh and headed back into the kitchen to check on Daniel.

* * *

Once in his office, Grissom unknowingly offered a similar sigh of frustration as his wife. He wasn't completely sure what had made him head to the office. It wasn't as though he could do much of anything, he mused. He couldn't read without the aid of his glasses, and staring at the computer screen had only made his headache worse.

After a moment he heard his conscious telling him the reason for his retreat. He knew he should not have been so harsh with Sara. He wished he wouldn't speak to her the way he does. He had no desire to hurt her, yet whenever she would offer help, he lashed out at her.

He retreated because he was ashamed. He was a horrible husband who would go to prison. But he was a horrible husband during a break at home.

Still anxious and still frustrated, the sounds from the kitchen garnered enough of his curiosity to leave his office.

Daniel banged nosily on the tray of his high chair as his mother gave him a bottle of water. He pointed at Hank while Sara filled the dog's bowl with fresh water, which the pup lapped thirstily.

Smiling, Sara ruffled her son's hair while Daniel kicked his legs excitedly. Grissom wasn't the only member of the family exhibiting signs of restlessness. "Maybe we can convince Daddy to have an afternoon in the park. What do you think, Dan?" she asked. Daniel continued to play nosily, and babble happily to himself.

Sara picked up the odd word, "Mommomom" and "Dada Dada," as she returned to finishing off lunch. She'd made another favourite of Grissom's – a veggie focaccia sandwich hoping he might eat something.

Grissom watched his family from the periphery. Internally he marvelled at Sara's natural role as a mother, but as he limped into the kitchen the pain of his knee coupled with the noises Daniel produced made him feel miserable.

Sara smiled faintly as Daniel babbled excitedly on seeing his daddy. Once daddy was nearby, Daniel offered him a piece of the fruit that Sara had given him. Her smile faulted as Grissom pointedly ignored both his son, and the proffered fruit as he sat near him.

She knew he was withdrawing and he wasn't fighting against those tendencies. She hoped maybe family time in the park might remedy that.

"I thought I'd make something light for lunch," Sara said, as she handed Grissom the veggie focaccia sandwich and a bottle of water. "There's still a little bit of your mom's pecan ginger cake left. I thought maybe we could take a trip to the park, with Dan?" Sara suggested lightly, as she continued cleaning up from lunch.

Grissom glanced at the plate on the table, with little interest. He really wasn't particularly hungry, and although he felt trapped within the house, the idea of going to the park, scared him more. He glanced down at the ankle bracelet around his right ankle. Its existence made him more ashamed. He'd done nothing wrong, and yet he'd been branded a criminal for all to see.

"Gil, what do you think about the park?" Sara asked, just as Daniel banged on the tray of his high chair, voicing his opinion on the matter. Grissom winced again, and rubbed the side of his head, as Daniel continued to play noisily.

It all became too much, and Grissom banged the table, hard. "Daniel stop it!" he shouted.

Both Sara and Daniel jumped at Grissom's unexpected angry voice.

Never before had Grissom raised his voice, let alone to complain about Daniel. In fact both he and Sara made a very conscientious decision, once the shock of the pregnancy had worn off, to never raise their voices in their child's presence. A decision made all the more crucial, by their childhoods – Sara's violent past having the biggest impact, and to a degree, the silent upbringing Grissom had faced, when his father had died.

Daniel's bottom lip poked out and tears welled in his dark eyes. He burst into frightened tears and immediately turned to Sara for comfort.

Sara took Daniel into her arms, holding him close against her. Her dark eyes flashed with sudden anger. He wasn't the only one on edge with this whole nightmare. And she sure as hell wasn't going to stand there, and allow him to make their son cry. "Dammit, Gil," Sara snapped back. "He doesn't understand why you can't hold him or play with him, like you used to. You're right here with him, and he's missing you! It's not his fault you're in pain!"

Grissom sat rooted to the spot, thinking how very similar Sara's words were to what his mother had said a few days before. His son's distress broke his heart, and he wished fervently that he could comfort him. Three months ago, it was daddy Daniel turned to when he was sad or frightened. Now, it was daddy who made him frightened and sad.

Despite a voice in his head telling him to mend his terrible mistake, Grissom felt he had no other choice but to pull away from them. Not because he wanted to, but because he _had_ to. It would be much easier for them, in the long term, when he ended up going to prison for the rest of his life.

He quickly got up, saying a hushed, pained "I'm sorry" under his breath, and left the kitchen. The thought of prison served as a bleak cloud. Seeing the sun shine on their garden, he went outside.

In just over two weeks, he would no longer have this luxury to just relax and enjoy the sun. So filled with sorrow, for so many reasons, he stretched out on a garden lounger and closed his eyes as he turned his face up towards the sun.

* * *

Daniel's loud cries of distress began to subside as Sara continued to rub his back in gentle circles. She kissed his hair, and hummed softly. Her body swayed rhythmically as she comforted her son.

Sara closed her eyes, and took a deep calming breath. Her anger passed, and she attempted to look at the situation from Grissom's point of view. The combination of his broken nose and concussion left him with little to do. She knew reading or watching television worsened his concussion symptoms. She was frustrated with his situation, but so was he — frustrated and restless. No, he shouldn't have yelled, but maybe she shouldn't have yelled back.

Daniel's crying stopped and she turned him around to face her. "He didn't mean it, sweetie. He's a good daddy."

Looking into his eyes, Sara wondered if he understood her. She matched his serious look then put a big smile on her face and tickled his sides. That made the boy break out into a laugh, and in no time was excitedly kicking his feet.

It gave Sara an idea of how she might reach Grissom.

* * *

As he listened to the buzzing of insects and the chirp of crickets, and birdsong, Grissom felt himself relax just a fraction. He felt remorse for his behavior, but didn't know what to do about it. Sara was right; nothing that happened to Grissom should ever warrant yelling at Daniel or Sara. But especially Daniel. Doing so broke a promise and he felt awful about it.

A bang on the sliding glass window broke him out of his thoughts. He figured it was Hank trying to get out. He turned around in his chair, but it wasn't Hank he saw.

Standing on his own, with Sara sitting on her knees behind him, was Daniel working to get his father's attention. The boy's slobbery fist banged on the glass again causing Grissom to gingerly get up and move to the glass. The image of his son standing on his own was awesome, and, without thinking, Grissom squatted down to be at Daniel's eye level. The pain hit Grissom hard, but he placed his palm on the glass and saw how Daniel placed the palm of his own hand on the same spot while on the other side of the glass.

Sara saw as tears welled in Grissom's eyes, and she wasn't sure if it was the pain in his knee, which didn't have the support, or his response to Daniel. She figured it might be both. She quickly scooped up Daniel as she stood up, causing Grissom to do the same. He opened the door for them.

"You need help to the chair?" Sara asked, knowing his knee was killing him.

He shook his head "no," and limped his way back forgoing the lounge chair for an upright chair at the table. Once he was seated, Sara sat Daniel down again and held his hands as he took guided steps toward daddy.

The smile on Grissom's face, while tinged with melancholy, warmed Sara's heart. She knew he cared. He just felt conflicted to show it. "Well, daddy? What do you think about this?"

Grissom sighed, then asked meekly, "You think he'll sit on my lap?"

She wanted to scream, "Are you kidding me?" But instead, Sara had to swallow a lump of emotion in her throat. "I'm sure he would." She picked him up and placed him on Grissom's lap. In Daniel's mind, his daddy's harsh words happened eons ago. Right now, he just wanted to reach up and tug daddy's nose.

Sara pulled over a chair so she could be directly across from her two men. She relished the moment of silent play between father and son. She hoped maybe they could talk without too much push and pull.

"I'm sorry, Gil," she started. "I shouldn't have shouted back at you. I know you're stressed and anxious."

Grissom shook his head. "You're just trying... to deal... with me. ... I just can't ... I don't know what to do… I just know I'm doing nothing well… nothing… right. For either of you… I'm the one who is sorry."

"Gil, one thing your mom said to me that really helped is how this isn't forever."

Grissom scoffed at the remark. "Maybe you should take Daniel back. I … I shouldn't be holding him…"

"Just stop a minute, OK?" Sara said firmly, but not loudly. She scooted closer towards Grissom, so that their knees were almost touching. She wanted to make sure he would have little space to get up and leave.

Grissom picked up on what Sara was doing. "Sara, come on…"

"It's not forever," Sara recounted. "You have got to believe that."

The look on Grissom's face showed loss and sadness. "Our forever has changed, Sara, no matter what." He looked down at his son, who had stopped fidgeting and simply cuddled against his father's chest. "Has he…" It was Grissom who swallowed his own lump of emotion. "Has he taken his first steps yet?"

"By himself? No," Sara said.

"I wish I could see him do that," he said before pressing a kiss to the boy's forehead.

"You will," Sara said confidently.

The comment made Grissom close his eyes. She just didn't understand what was going to happen. Couldn't accept the reality of the situation. "You just don't get it, do you?"

"Actually, I do," Sara said. "You were framed, Gil, and all those lies are going to unravel. They already are. I saw the looks on Bowden's and Foster's faces. They knew they were wrong about you."

"We don't know that Sara."

"I believe it."

Grissom nodded his head and bit his lip. How his wife still had hope, he didn't understand. "When was the last time you heard from Brass or Catherine or anyone else from the team?"

The question caught Sara off-guard. "Well, I've talked to Nick and Karson about the case."

"But you called them."

"Well, yes."

"Since I've been arrested… since I've been in jail, who from the team have checked up on you?"

Sara didn't want to revisit the two times Nick visited the house. The first time their conversation was so vitriol. And the second time was an apology of sorts, but still not enough for Sara's liking. "To check up on me, well… you know I was suspended Gil, and I guess the gang feels uncomfortable coming around."

It was the answer Grissom feared. She was abandoned because of him. Shame reared its head again, but so did a modicum of anger. But not directed at Sara. "We don't know anything about what's being done or not done."

"Look," Sara started, sensing his agitation and his desire to distance himself again. "We're both feeling tense and a little claustrophobic. Maybe getting out of the house isn't such a bad idea. Going to the park with Dan might be exactly what we need right now. We can drive there; it'll be a short drive and shouldn't be too painful for your knee. There's plenty of benches if we need to take a break. If you're up to it, we can go to the coffee house on the way home?"

Sara's face fell, as her husband shook his head, not even the promise of his favourite iced coffee enough to lure him to the park. "Gil?"

"I think it's better if we talk to Wilbur. Today."

"Wilbur said he'd call if there was any further news, Gil…."

Grissom shook his head. "I can't stand this limbo any longer, Sara. It's not fair to you and Daniel to be in this stasis."

"It's not stasis. It's a time to heal."

"It's too hard, Sara," he said. "Not knowing where the investigation is going. Not having a plan of action if the worse were to happen. If I go to trial, I want to be prepared. I don't want any more surprises at the last minute."

Sara tried to formulate a response, but Grissom upped the ante before she could. "Either you can take me there, or I'll drive myself. Which is it going to be?"

The ultimatum angered Sara and she wanted to protest. But it wasn't worth the fight. The determined look on her husband's face convinced her of that.

But she did want to find a way to get him out of the house, and while this wasn't quite the way she'd wanted it to go, maybe talking to Wilbur would help. The time he spent right now with Daniel on his lap was the most he had since coming home.

"Alright, Gil," she conceded. "But you have to wear the leg brace."

Grissom nodded. "OK."

"Let's call his office and then your mom to see if she'll watch Daniel." Sara stood up and reached for Daniel. She put her son on her hip and used the other hand to help Grissom stand. To her surprise, he took her hand and continued to hold it as they walked to the sliding glass door.


	38. Chapter 38

_A/N: Although mostly written by co-author, JellybeanChiChi, some of my writing still makes an appearance._

* * *

Chapter 37

Wilbur Jacobsen agreed to meet Sara and Grissom at the end of the work day. While Sara appreciated the lawyer taking time for them, the delay in the meeting meant Sara had to keep a very restless Grissom at home. With his mood swings so prominent and unpredictable, she didn't want to risk him losing his temper, especially in front of Daniel.

But since he had sat with Daniel, something had shifted in Grissom. While he still seemed somewhat uncertain and tense towards her, Sara noticed how Grissom watched Daniel closely, as if studying him. She wondered if Grissom was memorizing everything about the boy because he feared he might be gone from his life.

Instead of focusing or unintentionally fostering such a cruel notion, Sara tried to use his interest in their son to her advantage. She talked about things that Grissom might have missed while he was in prison.

"You know he is totally out of his blueberry phase?" she said to him while he watched as Daniel played on the floor.

"But he loved blueberries."

"Don't I know it," Sara said. "You know how tough it was to try get a bib clean that soaked up a bushel of pureed blueberries?"

The memory of white bibs turned more or less periwinkle made Grissom smile. "I told you we should have gotten him black bibs to begin with."

It didn't take long for the smile to evaporate and a look of intense concentration towards Daniel. "Do you think he remembers that I yelled at him?"

Sara could see her husband had nothing but remorse for his outburst. The anger she had at first, faded as she realized he was reacting to stimulus he couldn't control. "No, Gil, I don't think so. I mean, look at him? He's happy his daddy is around."

His small smile returned, and she took every look of love and softly spoken comment as a step in the right direction. As Sara sipped on a smoothie she made for herself, she got lost in watching her husband as he watched and interacted with their son. She preferred concentrating on the positive than wallowing in the depression that seemed to envelop Grissom. Because despite what he might think, that his future was lock-stepped in a certain direction, Sara had already witnessed positive shifts when it came to Grissom.

It happened in their own relationship just a few years prior, after she confessed her childhood to him. The shift started with him working to rebuild their friendship by doing small things — a meal here and there, even a movie. But nothing was ever classified as a date.

Then Adam Trent happened, and the shift was much more pronounced. The memory was still vivid in Sara's mind as it wondered to that evening two nights after the event. Grissom brought over Chinese take-out. Noodles.

And throughout the whole evening, Sara felt his eyes on her neck, the spot where Adam had held the shiv to her throat. He had looked at her that same night with the same loving, intensity that he now employed on their son.

" _Glaring is not going to make it go away, Griss."_ Sara could still hear the slightly irritated tone in her own voice.

For his part, Sara remembered how Grissom had stopped chewing and glanced reluctantly down at his noodles. _"It looks sore,"_ he had stated, his brows furrowing as he had forced himself to continue eating _. "Does it hurt much?"_

" _Only when you keep staring at it, and reminding me it's there."_

She had smirked, to try and soften the harshness of her words, and always wondered if Grissom saw her smirk since he just returned his attention to the noodles and muttered a soft, but sincere, _"I'm sorry."_

Sara hoped she would never forgot how he had stared at her whenever her attention had returned to her own dinner. But she had seen his gazes out of the corner of her eye and those glimpses had offered her warmth and had made her believe maybe he was changing.

As she spun the straw in her smoothie, a soft smile spread across Sara's face as she recalled the major shift in their relationship. She had reached over the breakfast bar and had entwined her fingers around his. He looked up at her. She could see a mixture of innocence and intensity in his look. He had looked boyish in that moment and when Sara spied a quick glance at Daniel on the floor looking at his beloved stuffed ant, she could see that same look. Which made sense. He was Grissom's mini-me, after all.

Taking another sip of her smoothie, her gaze found Grissom's form as he sat on the couch. He did look different from those few years ago, but he was still her Grissom. She couldn't help but let her mind wander again to that moment in her apartment, when they were still holding hands across the bar, their noodles dinners forgotten.

" _I know you care, Griss, and that you're concerned, but I'm fine, really. It looks worse than it is, and it will fade in a few days."_

 _Despite her words, she once more had felt his blue-eyed gaze settle on the red mark on her neck and she had became lost in the intensity of gaze. When he had come around to her side of the breakfast bar, his eyes had searched her face, before settling on the red mark on her throat._

 _She'd been making coffee, when he came up behind her. He had gently tucked her hair behind her ear, and ran his thumb gently over the mark._ Even years later, Sara could still imagine how his touch warmed her skin and lit her own desire.

 _The touch of his lips on hers had been as unexpected as it was welcome. He had kissed her, and she had kissed him right back. Their bodies had pressed tightly against each other, and the hand that had caressed the bruise on her throat wound into her hair. She had run her fingers through his soft curls, scraping against his scalp._

"Sara."

 _Their relationship had shifted beautifully, passionately into something she treasured._

"Sara is something wrong?"

His words broke her out of her daydream. Recalling those moments made Sara realize just how much she missed Grissom. Yes, he was just a few feet away from her, but there was still a chasm they had to cross before they could resume the intimacy she loved and, obviously, craved.

But for now, she had to believe the shift would happen. Just as it did years ago.

"I'm sorry, I was just thinking… daydreaming," she said as she took another drink from her smoothie. "Are you OK?"

"You've been drinking a lot of those smoothies. Are you feeling OK?"

Sara was surprised he noticed. "I like them."

"But you aren't eating."

"No, Gil, I do eat," she said, as she rose from her chair to sit next to him on the couch. "You're the one not eating."

He looked down at his hands. "I know you, Sara. When you get stressed, you don't eat enough and end up losing too much weight. And this whole thing has been incredibly stressful for you. I don't want to see you… I feel like you have so much responsibility heaped on you… because of me."

She placed a hand on his thigh, feeling him tense up at the touch, but she didn't vacate her hand in response. "I promise you I'm not just drinking smoothies, I am eating too. Do I look like I'm losing weight?"

Grissom sought out her face and Sara wished she could hold his gaze longer than the few seconds he offered. "No. You don't."

"Good," Sara said. "I tell you what, we can eat something together after I put Dan down for his nap."

"He needs his nap now?"

Sara reached down to pick up Daniel, who was rubbing his eyes trying to get them to stay open. "Yeah, he needs one of his one-hour power naps."

"That's all he needs?"

"At this time of the day, yes. Sometimes it's an hour and a half," Sara answered as she began to walk slowly down the hall, glad that Grissom was slowly following her. "His nap schedule has changed a bit, but he goes down sooner at night."

"Well, I guess I'll lie down, too," Grissom said solemnly.

"You want me to have him lie down with you?" Sara asked.

Grissom looked positively conflicted, and Sara knew why without him saying a word. He was almost as restless in sleep as he was awake, and probably thought if he had a nightmare, he might wake up the baby or worse. "You know, you might feel more comfortable in the bed by yourself."

"Yeah, OK," Grissom said softly.

Sara didn't know whether his feelings were hurt or if he felt a modicum of relief, but she let it go and went into Daniel's room to rock him to sleep. After about 20 minutes, once she was satisfied he wouldn't wake up during the "dismount" from her shoulder to his crib, she stood up.

She was surprised to see Grissom standing silently in the doorway. "You OK?" she whispered.

He meekly pointed to the twin bed in the room. "You think I could rest in here?" he asked in a whisper.

Sara rocked her son as she stood with him. "Of course, hon."

Grissom sat on the bed and stretched across the bed. Sara put down Daniel and stroked his hair as insurance his eyes wouldn't pop open. She then turned around to find Grissom with his eyes closed. She went to the bed and sat on the edge of it so she could stroke her husband's hair.

"The room… it smells like both you and Daniel."

The words were spoken softly and wistfully and Sara wished there was enough room in the small bed for her to spread out next to him. So instead she pressed her lips against his. The kiss was chaste yet when he opened his eyes and brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, she felt a familiar desire and warmth light up her body.

He closed his eyes again and she quietly got up and left them to rest.

Yes, she missed her husband, but a shift was coming.

* * *

The drive across town to Jacobsen's office took fifteen minutes, and Sara was thankful they were meeting after the heavy drive-time traffic passed. Although it was only a short drive, it was still quite painful for her husband.

Grissom's mood had soured as the drive continued. "We haven't heard anything from Jacobsen about Hobson."

"Wilbur said he gets daily updates from Ferguson, his investigator," Sara said as she drove.

"That doesn't mean shit," Grissom said, frustrated anger laced in his voice.

"I think it does," Sara said evenly. "I've talked to Ferguson. He's determined to find him and Jacobsen thinks he's close."

Grissom shook his head, stubbornly. "Even if Hobson is found, now that Rory is dead, he has even less reason to talk. He has even less motive to want to help me." Grissom sighed, and glanced with a look of dismay downward. "I'm sure if they could pin Rory's death on me, too, they would," he muttered gloomily.

"Let's not go there, OK," Sara said as she pulled into the lot of the law offices.

A security guard was getting ready to leave the building but still buzzed the Grissoms inside after Sara told him about their pre arranged appointment. They took the elevators to Jacobsen's office, expecting the lawyer to be waiting for them in the reception area.

When he wasn't there, Sara looked around. The uncertainty and lack of people made Grissom nervous. "You sure we got the right time?"

"Yeah. We're a little early but this is the right time," Sara said. "Come on. His office is over here."

The door was ajar just a bit, so Sara knocked on the door and pushed it open as she said, "Hello? Wilbur?"

When the door opened wider, the couple saw Wilbur Jacobsen at his desk, with the handset of the phone cradled on his shoulder. It looked like he was about to make a phone call.

But he wasn't alone in the office. As the door opened, Tom Ferguson stood up, as if to greet the couple. The third man in the office stayed seated.

It seemed Hobson Nash was more than happy not to see the couple.

Ferguson quickly took his seat and another from behind him and put them in front of Jacobsen's desk, as far away from the other two chairs as possible Hobson sat. While he hoped Grissom would take the chair furthest from Hobson, he didn't. Ferguson stood in the space between the two men, as if standing sentry. "Should I get another chair for you to put up your leg, Mr. Grissom?"

"No." The single word held so much venom as Grissom never stopped staring at Hobson.

Seeing the look of shock on Sara's face and the look of absolute hatred on Grissom's, Jacobsen hung up the phone and stood up. "Sara, I was hoping I would catch you before you arrived."

Sara finally took her eyes off Hobson and addressed Jacobsen. "Well, you didn't. What the hell is going on here, Wilbur?"

Jacobsen took a breath. "As you can see, Ferguson found Hobson."

"We just got here about 15 minutes ago," Ferguson said. "I came unannounced. I had no idea you were coming over. I apologize."

"The three of us have been discussing certain aspects of the case and the role Hobson can play in securing your freedom, Gil."

Sara watched as Grissom's chest inflated and deflated in a rapid pace. He never stopped looking at Hobson and the cowardly lawyer was beginning to wilt under his gaze.

"Gil," Jacobsen said, recognizing his client's proximity to losing his normally measured nature. "Gil. Let's talk about what's going on. Together."

Finally, Grissom turned away from Hobson. "Discuss what? Why is he here instead of giving a full confession to the precinct?"

"Upon finding Hobson, Mr. Nash asked Mr. Ferguson to bring him here so I could give advice as counsel."

"Oh, so you're defending him for all he did to me?!"

Hobson stood up."I had no other choice!" Hobson whined, desperately as he looked to each of the faces in the room, and finding no sympathy whatsoever in their stony countenances. "I have debts – thousands in gambling debts! I… I couldn't pay! They were going to kill me!"

"Kill you?!" Grissom stood up so fiercely, he pushed the chair he sat in violently behind him. "You fucking _bastard_!" Grissom shouted viciously. "You fucking bastard _coward_!" He took a pained step forward, but his progress was stopped by Ferguson. "You left me to die in that prison after you watched that maniac whip the hell outta me!"

"What was I supposed to do, huh? Say, 'Oh please, Rory. Please, stop.'" The sing-songy voice Hobson employed garnered him zero points from anyone in the room, but somehow the man without anything to lose couldn't care less. "Like that would have fuckin' worked."

" _17 times_!" Rage filled Grissom, as he stared at the man that had helped destroy him. "You watched him rip up my body 17 goddamn times _without a fucking word!_ "

Hobson's face drained of colour and he turned as though to leave the room. But Jacobsen was having none of that. "Sit down, Hobson. Now!" Hobson did as he was told. "Gil, please, my friend, sit down so we can talk about this."

With Ferguson still near him standing guard, Grissom couldn't help but think of his time in prison when he's rage fuelled him to a point that led him to a stint in the hole. Sara put her hand on Grissom's arm, in warning, but Grissom shrugged it off. The adrenaline saved him from feeling the pain of his movements until much later.

He looked down at her and tried to calm himself. But he still wouldn't sit down. "I'm listening."

Jacobsen knew Grissom enough not to push. "Hobson will be going to the authorities to tell them what he knows — that he was pressured by Rory Dunbar to sabotage your defense and get you in a position where the kidnapping could take place."

"And that he was in the warehouse," Grissom added, his gaze returning to Hobson.

"Don't look at me like that, Grissom," Hobson said, an air of arrogance surrounding him. "I'm sorry! OK? Is that what you wanted to hear? I really didn't expect him to go that far! This wasn't his first plan, but when that Jake guy turned up, it was just the opportunity he was looking look for. I was just his go-to guy, in exchange for keeping those monsters from beating down my door. Rory's the one that took it too far, at the warehouse!"

"So you sold me out to save your sorry ass, and you think sorry is enough? You're nothing but a piece of shit!"

"I'm a piece of shit? You know Grissom, you should be kissing my ass coming out of hiding to help you!"

The comment didn't just anger Grissom, it pissed off Ferguson who found Hobson a cowardly mess just an hour before, desperate and begging for help. "You get one shot, Grissom," the investigator whispered for only Grissom to hear.

That was more than enough prompt for Grissom to quickly advance on Hobson. With his eyes blazing with a hellfire that was rarely seen, rage consumed Grissom as he swung his right fist in a vicious punch to Hobson's face. The blow caught him squarely on the nose, and blood ran freely. The force of the punched knocked Hobson backwards to the floor.

Ferguson grabbed Grissom's arm and pulled him back. Sara was already out of her chair as Grissom advanced towards Hobson and took her husband out of the investigator's grip and into her own.

"Gil, you'll hurt yourself, and the bastard isn't worth causing you even more pain!" Sara's voice was filled with concern.

Grissom's eyes burned, his breathing harsh in his anger. His hands clenched into fists and his arms shook. If he was allowed, he would have kept punching Hobson into next week. He sat down next to his wife and closed his eyes as pain replaced the adrenaline that had coursed through his body.

"He broke my fuckin' nose!" Hobson screamed, hoping again to gain sympathy.

"Ferguson, get him out of here and cleaned up," Jacobsen directed, not at all happy with the events that transpired. "Stay outside until I call you."

Without grace or compassion, Ferguson hauled Hobson to his feet and had a death grip on the man's arm as he lead him out the room and towards the bathroom.

Once they were gone, Wilbur retreated to sit on the edge of his desk in front of Grissom. He had known the man in front of him for many years and never seen him filled with rage in his life. "Gil, are you OK?"

Grissom took a deep breath. "No." This time the word was not filled with venom but resignation and pain. "I couldn't stop myself, Wilbur."

The lawyer crossed his arms in front of his chest. "While that didn't help matters, I cannot fault you one bit, Gil. I'm sorry this worked out this way. If we were meeting an hour later or an hour earlier, this wouldn't even be a consideration."

Grissom put a shaky hand over his face. "I've just ruined everything again, haven't I? Hobson's gonna leave town and they'll be no one to say I didn't kill Jake. I didn't break out of prison. And I didn't kill Fromansky."

Sara rubbed gentle circles on his back. "Hobson Nash has no one to protect him any more except Wilbur, Gil."

"She's right, Gil. Hobson has nowhere to go. He's burned too many bridges. And Ferguson sure as hell is not going to let him get anywhere out of his sight," Jacobsen assured. "I know things look bleak, but I'm working on a plan with Hobson that will prove you were a victim of crimes against you, not the perpetrator of any crime."

Grissom slumped against his chair. His left hand rubbed the upper arm of his right shoulder. Rory's laughter filled his head, recalling what he'd said in the warehouse, about letting his emotions get the better of him. He'd allowed it to happen yet again.

Sara gently ran her fingers through his hair, feeling his body shaking. His face was ashen, and beaded with sweat. His eyes were squeezed shut against the pain. He uttered a sobbing groan of pain, and Sara wasn't completely sure if it was sweat or tears than ran down his cheeks.

"This is never going to end," Grissom gasped, tearfully. He sucked on his bottom lip, swallowing heavily. "Rory's dead and I'm still … seen as guilty!" Grissom hung his head in defeat, uncaring of the tears that fell down his cheeks. Jacobsen was watching him with concern, and saw Grissom's expression change dramatically, as he uttered a small groan, as he struggled against the rising nausea. "I'm gonna throw up!" he muttered, a second before Jacobsen thrust a small trash can into his hands.

Sara watched her husband in pain and wondered if all the progress he made earlier in the day had been lost all because of Hobson Nash.


	39. Chapter 39

_A/N: This chapter is more of a joint effort. Jellybean doubled up as co -author of the first half and beta of my 2nd half._

* * *

Chapter 38

After finishing a round of dry heaves, Grissom lifted his aching head up. Exhausted mentally and physically, he muttered an "I'm sorry."

Jacobsen had a bottle of water ready for his client. "You think you could drink something, Gil? Or if your prefer, you're welcome to use my wash room."

With Sara's hand upon his forearm, Grissom stood up. Sara rubbed his arm. "You need some…"

"No," Grissom interrupted as he reached for the water bottle with the hand not holding the trash can. He slowly made his way towards Jacobson's private bathroom at the far end of the room.

Jacobsen took the seat vacated by Grissom. "I can't imagine what you're feeling, Sara. Having Hobson in my office was a surprise, but I should have had enough foresight to try and contact you sooner. I cannot apologize enough to you."

Sara shrugged. "We were here half an hour early." Sara let out a sad chuckle. "I had Gil waiting all afternoon and I kept him occupied. He even took a nap. But he was pacing around the house late this afternoon. I wanted to get him out of the house. But right now, I sure as hell would take a half hour more pacing over what happened here."

She tried to hold back her tears but couldn't. She stood and went to turn her back to Jacobsen, who stood himself and put a supportive hand on Sara's shoulder. She turned around and allowed the older man to hug her.

He said nothing. It was not the first time he offered comfort to a client or a family member, and he knew that platitudes offered little solace in the face of raw reality.

Sara pulled back and biting her lip and swiping a hand at her eye. Jacobsen retrieved the ever-present box of tissues on the far edge of his desk and offered it to Sara. She pulled a Kleenex and sat back down.

"You going to be OK to drive home, because I'm sure Ferguson would be happy to drive for you."

"No, thank you," Sara said. "I'm OK. Thank you, Wilbur."

"My pleasure. If you don't mind, could you give me a call once you get back to the house?"

"We're leaving now?"

The duo didn't hear Grissom exit the wash room. He looked a fraction better, having washed his face and pressed his hair so it wasn't in so many directions. "We haven't talked about my case."

"Gil, I'm sure you're tired…"

Before sitting back down at his seat, Grissom handed the trash can back to Jacobsen. "I, uh… I washed it out. I found some disinfectant spray under the sink… but…"

"It's fine, Gil. Don't worry about that at all," Jacobsen said. "But we can talk tomorrow after some issues have been settled…"

"It's not easy to take a drive anywhere, Wilbur, and I'm here now."

"I understand that, Gil, I do," Jacobsen said, grabbing the seat that Hobson was using and pulling it closer to the couple. "And you're right. If I can give you some solace, I will, but a lot of the points I was going to tell you have changed with Ferguson's discovery of Hobson."

"But you still have a plan for the trial…"

Jacobsen had known Grissom for the better part of a decade, and never before witnessed the raw hatred in his eyes. Or had he ever witness Gil Grissom, known for his even temperament and introspective nature, shake with barely controlled rage. Jacobsen knew it was those unbridled emotions that led Grissom to vomit. That and his lingering physical pain.

But Gil Grissom was something else: tenacious. And Jacobsen knew he wouldn't leave the office without getting some resolution to his questions. "First and foremost, is to clear your name of any wrongdoing concerning the breakout and kidnapping, the probable deaths of the people on the bus and the obvious murder of David Fromansky. Clearing your name without a doubt would prohibit any inflammatory statements that ADA Ladd Sayers might put out in the press or use in the courtroom. Fortunately, I am confident it won't be a difficult task, especially since Hobson reappeared."

"But you can't just assume Hobson will help," Grissom said nervously. "He set me up and now, since I punched…"

"Gil, I still need to find out exactly what Hobson knows, but you should know that Sara was right when she said Hobson has no protection. For all his posturing, he was begging for help."

"For himself, not for me."

"True," Jacobsen admitted. "But my job is to ensure what he says does help you. Let's not forget two things, Gil. One, there is a prison guard in custody who was found with Dunbar."

"But he didn't say anything to confirm I wasn't involved," Grissom quickly retorted.

Jacobsen smiled. "Yes, but I would rather focus on the important fact that he hasn't implicated you either. Which brings me to point two, that guard hasn't talked but Hobson will." Before Grissom had a chance to interject, Jacobsen put up his hand. "Say what you will about Hobson, but he's a lawyer, Gil, and if there is one dance lawyers understand is 'first who talks gets a deal.' And Hobson wants a deal."

Grissom rubbed the side of his neck. "Wilbur, there's a video out there that has me confessing to evidence tampering and false arrest of a cop."

"A video that was filmed under obvious, tremendous duress."

"That could be leaked to the media."

"It would be a nightmare for the lab here and in Minnesota if that happens. No one would want defense attorneys having carte blanche to revisit your old cases."

Grissom simply wasn't convinced. "The leak is not impossible. Dunbar told me I've managed to piss off people on both sides of the law," he said with utter resignation. "Because of that, my life has been ruined. Maybe my arrogance has created enemies, and maybe I am to blame for what's happened. But I can't let that be the reason Sara's life is ruined, too."

Jacobsen scooted his chair closer. "You can't believe that. I know you, Gil. That's flawed logic. You were framed and you were kidnapped. There is no wiggle room for you to take blame."

"He's right," Sara said. "And you haven't done anything to ruin my life."

"What do you say, Gil," Jacobsen said as he stood up. "Go home with your lovely, supportive wife while I stay here and talk with Hobson. I need to know everything concerning his involvement from day one so that when the two of us go to the police tomorrow we have the best course of action."

Jacobsen offered his hand for Grissom to take to help him out of the chair. After a two-second pause he conceded and stood. "OK, Wilbur."

"Thanks for your time," Sara added. "Before we leave, could I use your wash room?"

"Of course."

"Gil, I'll be in the lobby for a moment, then I'll walk you and Sara out," Jacobsen said.

A moment by himself, Grissom listened to the warring factions in his own head. While a soft voice said, "You are employing false logic," that voice was being ripped to shreds by the louder voices telling Grissom his only future was prison and it was all his fault.

Sara came back out of the wash room and put a hand upon his back. "You ready for the ride home?"

"My mother didn't take Daniel to her house, did she?"

"No, she stayed at our house. Why?"

"I just wanted Daniel… at home."

Sara smiled. "Well, it's gonna get dark soon, so maybe your mom should spend the night."

Grissom nodded and they pair moved towards the door. Sara opened it spying that Hobson was nowhere near, which she figured was the reason Jacobsen went to the lobby while she was in the bathroom. She saw the lawyer, who gave an unspoken cue for the "All clear."

After walking them to the lot, Jacobsen returned to his office. He let out a long cleansing breath before he opened the door. Upon entering, he saw both Ferguson and Hobson sitting attentively before the lawyer's desk. Blood stained Hobson's shirt, but it would seem his nose had stopped bleeding.

He still had a handkerchief on his nose, but one dour look from Jacobsen made Hobson withdraw his hand from his face.

With an air of control, Jacobsen took a commanding seat behind his desk, his posture and expression no-nonsense. "Hobson, you are going to start from the beginning and tell me exactly how and why you were pulled in this situation. You will tell exactly what role you played and any tasks and duties performed by you. I have no patience for anything other than open honesty. No games. If I catch a hint of you lying, you will be taken directly to the police department without representation. Knowing you were present at the warehouse where Grissom was found and an assistant prison warden was found dead will not bode well for a wanted man without a lawyer. Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

Hobson nodded his head. "I understand."

"Good. Now talk."

* * *

Later that evening, Sara was curled up on her left side with her back to Grissom. Grissom lay flat on his back. A frown creased his brow as his eyes moved rapidly under his closed eyelids. He muttered something unintelligible. He grew restless, but not enough to wake his sleeping bed companion.

His muttering continued and his heart rate increased. He broke out in a sweat, soaking his sleep-shirt. He began to shiver. He whimpered, his frown deepening, his chest rose as he fought his growing panic.

As he dreamt of the whip hitting the flesh on his back, he flinched and uttered a low groan as he felt the sting in his dream. His cries of pain and anguish went ignored by his tormentor. He'd thought he'd managed to escape this place of hell, but the burning sting and the blood trailing down his back told a different story.

His panic etched up a notch as Rory finally put down the whip, only to pick up the stun gun. He uttered a piercing shriek of agony, as Rory jabbed it against his balls as he refused to give Rory what he wanted. The chains above his head chinked together and his body continued to spasm after the two-second blast. His stomach wanted to rebel as he felt the nausea rise. He sobbed, begging for his punishment to end. It fell on deaf ears.

" _I told you, I'll break you, Grissom,"_ Rory intoned as he punched him twice, a jab to the stomach and another to his face. _"Any way I can."_

A metallic taste filled Grissom's mouth as blood dribbled from his lip. He almost bit his tongue as Rory shocked him with the stun gun to his bruised left side again. He screamed with pain and torment, until his throat felt raw. Tears mingled with the sweat on his face, and his arms shook as his body trembled with spasms.

" _N-n-no m-m-more, p-ple-please!"_ he begged uselessly _. "I-I-I nev-never men-meant.."_

Rory grabbed him by his throat, mercilessly, his eyes blazing with unbridled rage. "I don't give a fuck what you never meant, you worthless bastard!"

With a strangled cry, Grissom's eyes sprang open, and he bolted upright in the bed. His chest heaved as panic overpowered him. His body shook and shivered while his eyes darted frantically around the room.

The sound of her husband jarred Sara awake. It became a familiar nightly routine, and this time she didn't bother turning on the bedside light. She discovered doing so startled her terrified husband further.

"Gil, it's alright, honey," Sara soothed, keeping her voice soft and gentle, aware to keep her movements slow. "You're safe, sweetheart."

"Ro-Rory….he-he was..." Grissom's voice cracked brokenly. "He...he...was...He was..."

Gently Sara rubbed his shoulders, feeling the tremors that coursed through his body. "Gil, it was a dream, sweetheart. Rory can't hurt you, baby. He's dead – he can't hurt you any more. I've got you, baby. You're safe, I'm safe, and so is Dan." She continued to soothe him, her fingers ran through his sweat-soaked hair, his shirt clung to him like a second skin.

She continued to rub gently across his back and shoulders and down his arms, speaking in soothing tones. Slowly he's head sank against her shoulders, his arms wrapping around her waist in a loose embrace. She gently ran her fingers through his hair and talked softly until his body relaxed and his breathing evened, letting her know his tortured mind had finally found a semblance of peace. She'd lain awake a further hour, just watching him sleep, alert to any signs that he might succumb to another nightmare, until she eventually drifted off.

* * *

With a brief sense of alarm, Sara awoke a little later than normal. With a hurried glance at the clock she headed for a quick shower, mindful not to wake Grissom.

Making her way downstairs, Sara thought the house sounded too quiet. It made her panic and she quickened her steps to the kitchen.

When there was no sign of either Betty or Daniel, she went into full panic mode. She searched downstairs and the garden. She retraced her steps to her son's room. That too was empty, and the twin bed neatly made.

The sounds of the front door opening had Sara hurrying back downstairs. She let out a sigh of relief as she saw Betty pushing Daniel in his stroller through the door. Sara raced down the remaining steps to greet them.

Sara bent down, and quickly released her son from the stroller and swept him into her arms. Seeing the panic on Sara's face made Betty's smile fade.

" _I worried you,"_ Betty quickly signed. _"I'm sorry."_

"Where were you?" Sara asked aloud.

"You'd ran out of milk, so rather than wake you, I thought I'd just get Daniel ready and walk to the store," Betty spoke, mortified that she had caused her daughter-in-law, unnecessary unease. "I really didn't mean to worry you."

Sara smiled and nodded. He knew the older woman had really meant no harm. A combination of the uncertainty they faced and Gil's nightmares made Sara far more jittery than she realized.

"It's okay, Betty. I didn't mean to oversleep," Sara explained. "Gil had a terrible night with nightmares."

Betty motioned for them to sit down. _"Coffee?"_ she quickly signed to Sara.

" _Yes. Please. Thank you,"_ Sara replied in sign.

Betty came back to the living with a cup of coffee just like Sara liked it. It brought home just how much of a godsend Betty was in the last few months.

"Did he say what his nightmares are?" Betty asked worriedly.

"No, but I can only guess it's about what he went through," Sara said. "It took a while to calm him down. But he's sleeping now. He seems calm."

Betty nodded and put a comforting hand on Sara's leg. Then she signed, _"I'm glad you are with him."_

Sara smiled she felt like she had a friend in Betty. "I should have expected that he'd have a bad night after what happened at Mr. Jacobsen's office. Hobson Nash has been found, and we ran into him while we were at the office."

" _That awful lawyer?!"_ Betty signed. She might not have said those words aloud, but it was easy to see the anger in Betty's signs.

"It was awful," Sara said, wanting to speak because she needed Betty to understand every word. "He goaded Gil. When Hobson said that he should be thanking him, Gil lost his temper and punched him. I don't think he would have stopped, if Ferguson the investigator hadn't pulled him off."

"Thank him?!" This time Sara heard the anger in Betty's voice. "After he helped to put Gil in the position he's in now? Then ran off to leave my poor boy to face the wrath of that terrible man. I hope when they throw his ass in jail, they throw away the key!"

"I do, too, Betty. But I know Hobson has information that can help Gil, and I'm so afraid he won't help."

"Gil struck him?"

"Yes," Sara nodded. "You know how Gil has been with his unpredictable mood swings. I know he can't help it."

"Has he had moods at home?"

Sara pursed her lips. "Yes, and he regrets them every time. He yelled at Daniel yesterday." Sara quickly put up her hand to calm her mother-in-law knowing that knowledge would upset her. "When he realized what he was doing, he felt so much remorse. And now, it seems he wants nothing more than to spend as much time as possible with him."

Betty nodded and stood up. Sara could see the disappointment in her eyes, disappointment in the way her son reacted. "I'm going to the kitchen. Dan likes to eat fruit now."

Sara nodded and picked up Daniel, but Betty dismissed her. "You need to lie down."

"Betty, I'm fine."

"No, dear. You rest. You look absolutely exhausted," Betty's face became stern in a motherly way as she signed, _"Lie down. On the couch. Now."_

Sara chuckled. Betty was not one to be reckoned with and, truth be told, Sara was exhausted. She handed Betty her grandson and complied.

Daniel happily sat in his high chair, his excitement increasing as Daddy came up behind him and kissed the top of his head.

Although Betty didn't hear her son come into the kitchen, she could see his limp and classify his exhaustion. The two exchanged signs in conversation.

" _You look tired. Why are you up?"_

" _I woke up. Are you feeding Daniel lunch?"_

" _His fruit. He likes his fruit at this time."_

" _Can I feed him?"_

The meek look on her son's face softened the disappointment Betty held knowing her son lost his temper with a small child. Sara said the mood swings were unpredictable and Grissom hated them as much as anyone. She approached her son and put a comforting hand on his cheek and nodded yes.

He hobbled around Daniel's chair to sit down, but Betty stopped him. _"Your knee brace."  
_

" _Mom, I'm fine."_

" _No knee brace, no feeding Daniel."_

With a frown, Grissom stood up and went back upstairs. Although in his 50s, he still knew his mother was a force to be reckoned with.


	40. Chapter 40

_A/N: Another chapter written solely by co-writer, JellybeanChiChi._

* * *

CHAPTER 39

"What do you think happened to his nose?"

Karson Hess' question amused Detective Matty Foster as he, his partner — Tristan Bowden — and the CSI observed Hobson Nash through the two-way glass. The nice sport coat, crisp button-down shirt and pressed slacks belied his overall haggard look and bruised nose.

"He either mouthed off with the wrong guy or he was physically forced to come downtown and make a statement," Foster said with a sardonic chuckle. "Isn't it a little convenient that his counsel is the same as Grissom's?"

"And his former boss," Bowden added. "Jacobsen is not a stupid man. He wants to be in control. I suspect he's here more for Grissom than Hobson."

"We'll see about who's in control," Foster said. "I take the lead, partner."

"Yeah. Let's see where he starts the conversation," Bowden said. "He looks anxious to talk."

And Hobson did want to talk — about a lot of things. He knew this might be his only opportunity to save his own ass after being involved in shady dealings for the past two years.

Yet, he wasn't the first person to speak as Foster entered the room with an air of confident bluster. "Hobson. Hobson. Hobson," Foster said loudly. "Where the hell have you been, man? There's been just a ton of people looking for you."

"And now he is here," said Wilbur Jacobsen who sat next to Hobson, who knew the routine of police interviews. Speak when prompted by the attorney, not the cop.

Foster smiled at the two, well aware of the protocol as well. But that didn't stop him from addressing Hobson again. "So, Nash, where'd you get the shiner?"

Hobson glanced his eyes toward Jacobsen who gave him a small nod. "I made someone upset."

"Someone who?"

"Someone who was upset with me."

Foster shook his head and leaned forward with his forearms on the table. "OK. Smart guy. So far, no straight answers, so why exactly are we here? I'm guessing this might have something to do with your other client, Mr. Jacobsen. Isn't it a conflict of interest to use one client as a pawn for another?"

"Mr. Nash does have information that will dispel the misconceptions and falsehoods surrounding Gil Grissom, that is true. But Mr. Nash also has information that can help the police department in regards to several true criminals that have been alluding justice. We are hoping that information, along with clearing Mr. Grissom, will garner him a deal."

"Well, you know the rules about deals, Mr. Jacobsen. That's something to take up with the DA."

"Yes, but I've always found that conversation to be easier when police officers realize how information used to broker a deal is necessary," Jacobsen said. "However, my client would first like to go on record on his role to the framing and kidnapping of Gilbert Grissom."

Foster gestured with his hands spread out. "You want to talk about Grissom, so talk about Grissom."

Again Hobson glanced for his lawyer's nod, which he received. "Gil didn't murder Jake Sullivan and Gil had nothing to do with the jailbreak. Rory Dunbar was behind both things."

"So if Grissom didn't murder Jake, who did?" Foster asked.

Hobson pursed his lips. "I don't know exactly who it was, but I know it wasn't Gil."

"That's not helping anyone, Hobson," Foster said. "If you're not going to give specifics, I'm not going to waste my time. We looked into your background, Hobson, you have no connections with Rory Dunbar. Nothing. I'm not gonna sit here if you're being pressured by someone to help Grissom. Maybe that's how you got your face bashed in."

"You didn't find any connection to Dunbar because he didn't know me," Hobson quickly added. "Dunbar bought me from two people I was deep in debt with."

"Who?"

Hobson sighed. "Connor Mattingly and Fidel Stevens."

Those two names perked up both Foster and Bowden. Mattingly and Stevens had been under investigation for years for gambling and drug and human trafficking. They were not to be trifled with. The names had Bowden knocking on the door and entering the investigation room to participate in the questioning.

"Why don't you start from the beginning Hobson," Bowden said. "This might be the only time you can safely share this information."

Hobson talked about how in the last two years he had become an unofficial lackey for Mattingly and Stevens, courtesy of a gambling problem and spiralling debt. It ruined his marriage, but he couldn't stop. He used some of the perks and resources of the firm to clandestinely serve the two men who threatened him with violence if he didn't successfully help them. With Hobson's help, they avoided problems with authorities. Evidence and paperwork would become misplaced. Hobson became known as the cleaner.

But, Hobson wasn't the only one in debt. Mattingly and Stevens needed Hobson because their former "cleaner" — Rory Dunbar — was in prison. And they owed that cleaner big time. Just a few weeks after Rory was in prison, he made contact with the two men seeking repayment. Mattingly and Stevens were willing to give up Hobson to Dunbar for a clean slate.

"So what were you assigned to do?" Bowden asked.

"At first, I was just told to put all my attention in making headway at the firm. Garnering respect from the partners, especially Mr. Jacobsen," Hobson replied. "I honestly felt like I was free because for eight, nine, ten months I wasn't called to do anything illegal. I started to feel whole again, until I got the call about going to work."

"Who contacted you?"

"I only know him as Dunbar's assistant," Hobson said, seeing the lead detective roll his eyes. "But I did meet him once in person, and I'm pretty sure it was someone at the prison because he had everyday access to Dunbar. Look, in the past two years I learned not to ask too many questions. It gets you in a bad place."

A knock on the glass interrupted the conversation, and both detectives exited the room knowing that Karson was trying to get their attention. Once the door closed, Foster was the first to speak. "A bunch of bullshit. That's all he's trying to sell us."

"I wouldn't go that far," Karson said. "The notes from David Fromansky's files listed four code names — one of them I was able to decipher as the prison guard you have in custody. But another one of the names was 'the cleaner.' That had to be the moniker for Hobson."

Foster shook his head. "You don't think that's a stretch?"

"I want to find out," Bowden asked. "You got a photo of Fromansky?"

Karson reached into the files he brought with him and extracted the photo, which Bowden snagged before reentering the room alone. "You said you saw your contact before. Is this him?"

"Yeah," Hobson said with a nod. "That's him."

"When was the last time you heard from him?"

"I was supposed to meet him four days after the jailbreak but he never showed." Hobson shifted in his seat. "I figured he disappeared or was dead. I disappeared after that."

"You have no idea who this man is?" Bowden asked.

"Like I said, I think he worked at the prison because he knew Dunbar's everyday activity. He was close to Dunbar. Said they knew each other as cops. He said, 'No one should mess with Rory. We called him the lion because he really knows how to roar," Hobson said. "The guy was an overall asshole."

"Let's go back to your tasks," Bowden said. "After you smoozed with the partners, what happened?"

"I had meetings with that guy," Hobson said pointing to Fromansky's picture. "He told me something was going down with Grissom and I needed to make sure I was put on his case in the event the man was arrested. I told him that one of the partner's were his attorney and that might be tricky, and the guy said, 'Don't worry about that. We'll make sure he won't be around.'"

Bowden stole a glance at Jacobsen, whose normally calm, professional face was flawless. But Bowden noticed a hitch. "Where were you Mr. Jacobsen when Grissom was arrested?"

Jacobsen took a deep breath. "With my brother in Los Angeles. He was car-jacked from his job at a local warehouse. Thankfully, he was able to get out of the car, opening the car door and tumbling out. He suffered some injuries, but was extremely fortunate. Good Samaritans took care of him, and the suspects ran off with the car. I stayed with him for about a week and a half."

"They ever find the car or the suspects?"

"The car was torched, along with any evidence."

"When did this happen?" Bowden asked.

"Two days before Jake Sullivan's murder."

Bowden nodded. That revelation seemed to cement the detective's attitude about the case in another direction. "When it happened did you think there was any connection?"

"Not until I spoke with my client last night."

"But your brother is OK?"

"He is, detective" Jacobsen nodded. "Thank you for your concern."

For his part, Hobson held his head low. Yet Bowden pressed on. "Did you arrange that Hobson?"

"No!" he replied strongly. "I had no idea that's why Mr. Jacobsen was gone. All this stuff that happened, it was so coordinated, so structured. I was told to blow the hearing as best as possible and make sure he was in High Desert State. I wasn't told why. I had no idea he was going to be beat up. I just did what I was told."

"And what were you told after that?"

"Get the transfer done. The bus transfer," Hobson said, taking a breath. "Again, I had no idea what the hell was going on until I was told to meet at coordinates given to me somewhere off Highway 116 in Amargosa Valley, just past Camp Desert Rock."

"What was on Highway 116?"

Hobson swallowed a lump in his throat. "A war zone." The memories of the wreckage and tow truck and the bodies made Hobson shiver. "I… uh…" He coughed to regain his composure. "My job was to transport Dunbar and Grissom to the storage facility."

"Did Grissom willingly get in your car?"

"No, he was practically unconscious, but Dunbar was pushing and pulling him inside."

"Where was the storage facility located?"

"Parhump. An hour from my office."

"Was that the only time you went to the warehouse?"

"I was called there. Dunbar insisted I be there to witness what he was doing to Grissom." Hobson swiped a shaky hand across his forehead. "I wasn't expecting… I didn't know what I was expecting, but, dear God, it was like my worst nightmares of what Mattingly and Stevens might do to me if I wronged them in some way. The shackles and the stun gun and the whip. …"

"Did you ever think that maybe all that was an act?" Bowden asked.

Hobson let out a sardonic chuckle. "No. There was no act. Dunbar was a fucking lunatic who was trying to get Grissom to admit to something that happened more than 20 years ago. Grissom wouldn't budge. Something about a brother who was a dirty cop. I don't know. But Dunbar was bound to get Grissom to admit to lying about framing the brother or some shit like that. I'm guessing he was torturing Grissom the whole time he was there. How long was he there?"

"Three days," Bowden said.

"No way I would have lasted that long," Hobson said. "Scared the shit out of me to see him after less than one day. Whatever he held onto — dignity, pride, whatever — it couldn't have been worth the pain he was given."

Bowden leaned back in his chair. He was ready to take a break, but was still frustrated from one of the first questions his partner asked. "Hobson, how sure are you that Grissom wasn't the one who killed Jake Sullivan?"

"I saw the evidence against Grissom. The statements from Mrs. Grissom's co-workers. If he did it, he played right into Dunbar's hands. But all this that has transpired has been Dunbar's doing. He bought me months ago for a reason. The whole plan hinged on the murder of Jake Sullivan. You really think Dunbar would hinge this entire operation and its timing on whether a guy like Gil Grissom would kill somebody? God knows, Dunbar had connections all over the place, even out of state," Hobson said, offering a sombre glance to his former boss. "You really think he didn't have connections close to home?"

The statement caused Bowden to stand up. "Don't move, Mr. Nash. We have more questions about your dealings with Mattingly and Stevens. I'm going to get you a drink and come back. Water? Soda?"

"A coke. Thanks," Hobson replied.

Exiting the room, Bowden joined Karson and Foster. "I can't believe Jacobsen is helping that bag of shit after what happened to his brother."

"I'm guessing he is here to help Grissom and then will pass Hobson along to the DA," Karson presumed. "You think he might have a lot to pin on Mattingly and Stevens?"

"We've been after those humps for years," Foster said. "If he's a good source, then he will be able to broker some type of deal. We should get back in there while everything is fresh."

"You go ahead and start him up. Get the formalities out of the way," Bowden said. "I'll get the soda."

"You got it partner," Foster said before reentering the room.

"That was quite informative," Bowden said.

"It was," Karson said, clearly deep in thought.

"Something bothering you?"

"Yes," Karson replied. "A man in prison coordinated an elaborate plan for months against someone who he thought wronged him more than two decades ago."

"We checked with Minnesota about Dunbar's brother and Grissom's rep," Bowden said. "Grissom was right. Tyler Darrow was elbow deep in corruption way before Grissom got there."

"And Grissom's rep?"

"As solid as it was here… until about two months ago," Bowden said. "I'm going back in. You staying?"

"No, but thanks for the heads up on this interview."

"Saved me doing any recap for you," Bowden said. "Thanks to you we know that Fromansky was the second in this operation, pulling strings in all directions."

"And some of those strings might have been right under our noses," Karson said.


	41. Chapter 41

_A/N: Another awesome chapter written solely by co-writer, JellybeanChiChi._

* * *

CHAPTER 40

Karson Hess didn't look up from the papers he was reading when he heard a knock at the door. "Come in."

Karen O'Shea seemed befuddled at the request to see her supervisor. She spent most of her morning bored and waiting for lab results, and she was annoyed she had to take time out from her lunch hour for a wild hair up Karson's butt.

Yet, she wasn't stupid enough to put those feelings on display. She did not want to be a level 2 CSI forever. "Am I interrupting?"

"Close the door and take a seat, Karen."

Doing as she was told, Karen sported a pleasant smile. But after a minute in silence waiting for Karson to finish whatever the hell he was working on, Karen got annoyed. "Karson, I'm actually on my lunch break so maybe I'll come back when you're ready to talk. No sense wasting time…"

Not acknowledging a word she said, Karson stood up and walked to the front of his desk. He leaned against it and held a stern face. "It's time we talked about the mishandling of information at the beginning of the prison break investigation."

Karen blanched slightly, "We already talked about it. It was a simple oversight as a result of being overworked."

"Karen," Karson started, his voice holding a modicum of patience that could evaporate at any time, "I am offering an opportunity to tell the truth about what happened."

"Excuse me?" There was no mistaking the air of insult in her tone."Are you accusing me of lying?"

"What was your relationship with Jake Sullivan?"

"What?... I…" Completely blindsided and flustered, Karen tried to formulate a response without giving an answer. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"It's a simple question and I would like an answer."

"I don't have to answer that."

"Were you friends? Did you know each other prior to his arrival? Did you go out together?"

Karen stood up. "You have no right to ask me any of those questions! I have every right to go right now to HR…"

"Sit down Karen."

"No!"

Karson pushed away from his desk and stood straight in front of Karen. "Further investigation into this case has led me to believe that someone in the lab participated in Jake Sullivan's death, which is now connected to the prison break. Having Rory Dunbar's name missing from the manifest along with the absence of David Fromansky's name is a very heavy coincidence, and it is your name on the report that neglected that information, Karen. Your name and only your name. I am offering you this singular opportunity to answer my questions truthfully. Now, do you still want to play a game or do you want to sit down, answer questions and try to save your career?"

Without an ounce of mirth or false bravado, Karen sat back down. In response, Karson resumed to lean against his desk. "Jake Sullivan?"

"No I didn't know him. I met him for drinks one time."

"Alone?"

"Well, no. It was me and another friend," Karen said, her eyes shifting from left to right.

She was clearly uncomfortable about something, and Karson needed to know exactly what. "I'm going to need to talk to that friend… Do I know the friend?" Karen squirmed but didn't answer but Karson wouldn't relent. "OK, Karen, maybe the two of us shouldn't be having this conversation. You might want to think about representation in terms of questioning of your involvement of these crimes…"

"Hold on!" Karen said anxiously. "I didn't… I know my name is on the report you're talking about but… I wasn't the one…" She paused and nervously bit the inside of her lip. "Karson, I'm not involved in anything criminal!"

"Then what are you involved in? You weren't the one who what?"

She sighed and put her hand through her hair. Her voice was soft and contrite. "I… I never called the prisons, Karson."

"So how do you account for the information in the report?"

"You should have made me lead on the case," she said like a petulant child. "I deserved it, but instead you had me do menial tasks like getting prisoner manifests. I was pissy and someone offered to do the work. I figured it wouldn't be a big deal."

The fire in Karson's eyes spoke volumes about how her lack of work ethic was a huge deal as it created horrific circumstances. "Who wrote down the information, Karen?"

Again, Karen gnawed on her inside lip and cheek before answering. "It was Patrick. Patrick Davies."

Karson closed his eyes. The revelation of Patrick's involvement was no surprise but still stung. It was his subordinate — Patrick — who he recognized from the photo in David Fromansky's house. Checking vacation records, Patrick had indeed taken time off two years ago at the time of Bike Week in Florida. And Patrick owed a motorcycle, in fact he just purchased a high-end Harley Davidson just a few weeks ago.

He was a Harley Davidson enthusiast, and Karson always suspected if Fromansky's code name of "HD" stood for the motorcycle brand and therefore was the moniker of a Harley lover.

Someone like Patrick Davies.

He opened his eyes and stared Karen down. "Tell me exactly what Patrick did?"

"He told me not to worry about calling the prisons, he would do in and then type it into the report," Karen said. "I didn't even look at it, I mean, come on Karson, Patrick is one of us… he's my closest friend here."

"Who was the friend who had drinks with you and Jake?"

"That was Patrick, too," Karen said.

The bartender at The Steak House had recognized both Karen and Patrick when Karson spoke to them, so again the information was no surprise, but Karen continued.

"Patrick said Jake had an open account and asked for me to come because…"

"Karen the more you cooperate now, the better it is for you," Karson urged.

"He wanted me to… kind of … talk about Sara. Trash talk. About her and the husband. That was pretty easy. And…" Karen sighed, "Jake started getting more determined about Sara. Patrick laughed it off and egged him on. And, well, I flirted with Jake, to try and get him to focus on someone other than Sara. But the more I trash talked the more, the more I flirted, the more Jake was determined. Kept saying he was definitely going to teach Sara what a man is really about. Patrick got in on it too, how Jake should give it to Sara good, and it was … kind of gross, so I left."

"And you didn't think about saying anything to anyone?" Karson said. "Not even Sara?"

Karen shrugged. "It was drunk guy talk. I mean… I didn't think anything would happen."

* * *

When Ladd Sayers got the call that police had the suspect of Jake Sullivan's murder for an interrogation downtown, he quickly rescheduled a personal appointment to make sure all ducks were in a row at One Police Plaza.

Striding into Interrogation Room B with purpose, he greeted Detective Matty Foster and Sheriff Conrad Ecklie as they stood outside the room. "Gentlemen, I am hoping this interrogation will seal the deal against…" Just then Sayers glanced inside the room. What he saw, or more critically what he didn't see made him angry. "Where the hell is Grissom?"

"He's not being questioned," Foster said. "New suspect in the case."

Karson Hess and Detective Tristan Bowden sat in the room opposite of CSI Patrick Davies and his lawyer.

"So you think the guy worked with Grissom?" Sayers asked.

"No. We think he helped frame Grissom and was the one who killed Jake," Foster said.

Sayers face turned red. "What the hell are you talking about? I have a case file and hours of work logged on putting Grissom behind bars and now you're throwing a wrench in the machine? Why? To secure a precious former lab worker's legacy?"

Foster didn't appreciate the tone by the DA. "I don't know if you haven't noticed, counselor, but I don't give a flying fuck about some science geek's legacy. If there was any thought that the guy in there was working with Grissom and connected to Grissom in any way, I would be the first to tell you."

"None of us are giving Grissom a free ride here," Ecklie added.

"Then why isn't he behind the glass?"

"Because we found no connections between Grissom and Davies, but plenty between Davies and David Fromansky." Ecklie said. "We realize you have your heart set on prosecuting Gil Grissom, but he's not the murderer."

"It's gonna take a helluva a lot more than your words to convince me of that, Sheriff," Sayers said.

Inside the interrogation room, Patrick Davies sat stone faced. He was more than willing to listen to Hess and Bowden and let his lawyer do all the talking.

Bowden recognized that dynamic right away. "Patrick, we want to give you the opportunity to explain your role in Jake Sullivan's murder."

"There is no role to explain," Patrick's lawyer said.

"Patrick, in the last month, you've made several large purchases," Bowden said. "A new Harley Davidson bike. And a condo in Silverado."

"Making purchases are not a crime, detective," the lawyer said.

"Depends where he got the money," Hess said. "I know your salary, Patrick. Where did the money come from?"

"Savings," the lawyer said.

"That's quite a lot of savings," Hess said. "As a matter of fact, it is about $270,000 worth of service. Cash savings."

"He's a frugal, single man."

"We spoke with the salesperson at the Harley store. Cash up front for an impressive Hog — CVO Street Glide — 31 grand, cash," Bowden said. "We also spoke to the realtor who sold you the condo. Paid in cash to the tune of $239,000. That's quite a tune, Patrick."

"As I said before, Mr. Davies is a frugal man who had recently been willed a large sum of money," the lawyer said smoothly. "Certainly you gentlemen understand the financial savvy of purchasing property as an investment."

Neither law enforcement member seemed at all phased by any of the lawyer's comments, practically ignoring anything the lawyer said and directing every question at Patrick.

Perhaps that is why Hess' tone became a mixture of knowing and disappointment. "I'm guessing you had been laying in wait for a while, Patrick, but when it all happened, it all happened very fast, didn't it?"

Patrick and his supervisor leveled one another stern gazes, but Patrick didn't speak at all. So Hess continued. "David Fromansky was someone you knew. Both of you were motorcycle enthusiasts and in the past couple of years you and he had become buddies, according to the staff of the Harley shop. You went to Daytona Beach together for Bike Week. From what I understand Fromansky was courting you for a job in the prisons."

"Mr. Davies was upset at finding the death of his friend," the lawyer said.

"I'm sure he did because he wasn't just a friend, he was a partner in a lucrative crime, wasn't he Patrick?" Hess said. "Did you know that Fromansky kept detailed logs of activities between you and he?"

Patrick's gaze hitched, just a touch. But enough to know Hess hit a nerve. So, again, Hess continued. "Every meeting you had marked by the notation 'HD' for his friend so into Harley Davidsons."

"There is no way to corroborate that, Mr. Hess," the lawyer said.

"One of those meetings were at a park in Silverado," Hess said. "That was a fascinating log in Fromansky's diary. You see, he got there early for a 2 p.m. meeting with you, and watched you for a half hour while he waited. Wanted to see what you were up to. You walked up and down, including in front of a for sale sign in front of a condo. You made a phone call, which made Fromansky a little nervous. Did he ask you who you had called?" Hess watched another notch of bravado melt from Patrick's face. "No answer? Well, I checked with the realtor, and she said that at 2:25 on that date you first contacted her about that condo. Wanted to know prices and set up a walk through for that same day. You really liked the area, huh Patrick?"

Patrick still said nothing, but his eyes moved around the room a bit. Bowden took the opportunity to speak. "Outside right now is the D.A. and the sheriff and they will work on a warrant for your financial records to see about even more concrete connections to Fromansky's financial records," Bowden said.

"OK, gentlemen, all these theories are absolutely unsubstantiated, and I don't think my client needs to hear anymore."

"We have your DNA, Patrick."

Hess' statement stopped the attorney cold but only for a moment. "What DNA? Did you illegally secure DNA from my client?"

"Grissom's shoes were too small for you, weren't they Patrick? But you had to use them. It was all part of the plan to frame Grissom. You stole the shoes, you needed to use the shoes, no matter how tight they were," Hess said. "They must have been so tight you couldn't even wear socks with them. We extracted DNA from deep within the shoe. DNA that matched you. Along with a tiny spot on the inside toe. You must have got a blister that busted. Left your trace DNA there, too."

"My client never submitted his DNA to you."

"We got it off a toothbrush from Karen's house. It seems you spent a couple of nights there and Karen saved a toothbrush for you," Hess said. "And before your lawyer asks, we do have your prints on file and, yes, it was your fingerprints on the toothbrush we used to extract the DNA."

"This woman? You pressured her to give up the toothbrush?" the lawyer asked.

"No. She volunteered it."

"Karen never would have done that," Patrick finally uttered.

"She did, Patrick."

For the first time, Patrick's facade truly broke. But not of fear. Not of anxiety. And certainly not of remorse. He was angry. "It doesn't matter. My prints might be on the toothbrush but you can't prove it is my DNA without taking a personal sample. And I'm not giving you one."

"We'll see about that," Karson said.

"There is one more thing you should know, Patrick," Bowden added. "Like I said before, the DA and Sheriff have witnessed this whole conversation. And down in interrogation room A is prison guard Ellis Crossan. Now he hasn't said much, but, speaking from experience, he might have a lot to say when we tell him we have you in custody. Honor among thieves is a myth, Patrick." Bowden stood, and gestured for Karson to do the same. "We'll leave you two to talk. I'm going to check on Ellis."

Hess and Bowden left the room and joined the trio who witnessed the interrogation. "I don't think this conversation is over," Bowden said.

"That was a good job in there," Ecklie said to the detectives and the CSI. "The web that was spun to frame Grissom was tough."

"I heard nothing that lets Grissom off the hook, Conrad."

"Ladd, you can't be serious," Ecklie said.

"I'm dead serious, Sheriff," Sayers said. "He's right about the DNA, and even if it is his DNA in those shoes, they are still Grissom's shoes. He could have gave the shoes to Davies after paying him in cash to kill Sullivan."

"You think Grissom paid Davies to kill Sullivan and then got himself put in jail? Without implicating Patrick Davies at all?" Ecklie said incredulously. "What about what the lawyer, Hobson Nash, said?"

"Nothing short of a confession is going to convince me," Sayers said. "This should have been a phone call, Sheriff. Next time, don't waste my time with shit like this."

Sayers left leaving the law enforcement personnel with a sense of frustration, some more than others. "Conrad, we can't let him go," Hess said. "He's a flight risk."

Conrad looked at the detectives. "Thoughts?"

"I think this is our guy," Bowden said.

"Foster?"

"Hess has a point," Foster said after a long pause. "He's gonna run."

"Go in and arrest him in connection of the murder of Jake Sullivan," Ecklie said. "And if you can get a confession… unless you think it's a waste of time?"

Foster let out a snort. "Waste of time? Hell no. I love a challenge."

As Bowden and Foster went inside the interrogation room, Hess spoke to Ecklie. "We need a warrant for the DNA. Sayers didn't seem like he would help with that."

"I'll work on getting the warrant," Ecklie said.

"Did Grissom ever piss off Sayers?"

"If Grissom ever pissed anyone off, it was me," Ecklie said with a chuckle. "I have no idea what Sayers is thinking."

"I don't either, which is why getting that warrant right away is imperative."

"I agree," Ecklie said. "You think we should work on anything else immediately?"

"Well, I am down another CSI," Hess said. "Unless I can get one off of suspension."

"Sidle," Ecklie confirmed. "She'll want to know why she's off of suspension."

"Knowing her, yes. But if Sayers knows we told her…"

"Tell her what?" Ecklie said cryptically.

Hess smiled before he turned to leave.

* * *

 _A/N: Just a reminder that Patrick Davies was first introduced in chapters 6 & 7\. He didn't appear in the show at all, and is my own creation/character_


	42. Chapter 42

_A/N; This is mostly down to co-writer, JellybeanChiChi - though maybe a line, or a paragraph of what I wrote, did make an appearance. I LOVE this chapter :D Jelly did an amazing job!_

* * *

CHAPTER 41

As Sara turned the corner to head up the stairs with a laundry basket, she heard a noise that made her want to cringe.

A toddler sneeze that undoubtedly involved snot. And by the sound of Daniel's two huge sneezes, there probably was double the amount of snot.

Gross, wet, worse-than-saliva snot. What makes matters worse, was in the two-seconds she spent imagining the snot, Sara envisioned Daniel had now recovered from the sneeze and was spreading said snot all over his face.

With a defeated sigh, Sara put down the basket on one of the steps and trudged to the living room where Daniel was on the floor and Grissom rested on the couch. While she was still a few steps from the room, she watched as Grissom disappeared from view and slid off the couch.

Sara stepped closer and heard him say, "OK, buddy, let me see those nasty hands." He had grabbed a few tissues from a box on the couch and quickly dried the boy's hands. He then took a few more tissues, and deftly wiped the snot from Daniel's nose, making sure not to spread it more. "You know, it's better if we get this done together. Mommy does not like snot." Grissom made an underhanded basketball throw to get the used tissues in the nearby wastebasket. Then he got a few more clean tissues and maneuvered them under Daniel's nose. "Come on, buddy. Look at daddy." Grissom made a face and blew air out of his nose hoping Daniel would mimic him.

Daniel giggled, but also seemed to try and blow air out of his nose. If anything, what he did instigated another sneeze, one that Grissom was prepared for. The tissue covered Daniel's nose disallowing any stray snot strings from going too far. "Atta boy, Dan. That was a big one. Mommy will be glad she missed it."

"You can say that again," Sara said with a smile just out of earshot. She was ready to help Grissom up but then her cellphone rang. Recognizing the caller ID, she moved into the kitchen to take the call. "Hey, Karson."

"How are you Sara?"

"OK. Is something wrong?"

"Well, in a way," Karson said, cryptically. "How would you like to come back to work?"

The news took Sara aback. "Back to work? Are you saying I am off suspension? But why? Is there another suspect?"

"We're shorthanded, Sara," Karson said, hoping his tone and voice and avoidance of directly answering her question would cause Sara not to inquire much more about specifics.

It didn't completely work. "Why are you so shorthanded? Is everyone OK?"

"Sara, I… Why don't we start over, OK?"

"OK," Sara said, extending the last syllable.

"I talked to Sheriff Ecklie and he agreed to take you off suspension and I thought you would be excited about that… Like shocked into silence excited?"

It was that last line that worked. Sara knew there was a lot at play but it would seem her supervisor's hands were tied in regards to talking about specifics.

But that didn't mean she couldn't try to get just a little more information. "Well yeah, I'm excited. … So shorthanded… that's at least a couple of CSIs. I'm guessing a pretty bad bug must be going around. But should I be worried that some kind of flu is contagious so I don't get Daniel or Grissom sick? Especially Grissom. The two of us look forward to clear … sinuses"

Karson chuckled. She just can't stop digging. "Actually what's going on here might just clear your sinuses. Hard work does that you know?" He waited a beat before asking again, "So, you interested in getting off suspension?"

"Yes. I would," she said.

After she got off the phone, Sara wanted to share the good news with Grissom, but she had to make another phone call first. "Yes, hello. This is Sara Sidle Grissom. Is Mr. Jacobsen in?"

* * *

He always heard parenthood was all about creativity but he had never thought he would have to be so creative picking his kid off the floor.

Grissom remained on the floor with Daniel as Sara took her phone call. But Daniel seemed restless, and Grissom thought it was because he was getting hungry for his mid morning snack. He wanted to pick him up and get to the kitchen, but in his current position that was easier said than done. While he arms felt better every day, he still wasn't sturdy enough to pick up a child and raise himself up without putting too much pressure on his knee.

Hence the necessity of creativity.

Thinking it over, he figured his best bet would be to do things in steps. First he picked up Daniel and turned his body while still sitting on his butt to place his son on the couch. "Don't move," he said firmly but gently.

In response, Daniel smiled said "Da" and then immediately turned around and worked to pull himself up in a standing position.

Still sitting on the floor, his son's cute, yet defiant, reaction made Grissom slump even more. He hoped the boy wouldn't scoot too much as Grissom worked to rise from the floor.

"Moving when you ask him not to move is kind of his calling card," Sara said as she sat down on the couch.

"That might not bode well for the future," Grissom said. "I think he's hungry and I was trying to take him to the kitchen…"

"You should have called for help," Sara said, firmly but gently. She helped him stand while the two kept an eye on Daniel.

"I honestly thought you were on the phone," Grissom said as he stood up straight and stretched, reflexively letting out a small groan. "You want me to get Daniel?"

"I got him," Sara said as she hitched the boy on her hip.

"Who called?" he asked while walking to the kitchen.

"Karson," she answered as she slid Daniel in his high chair.

Grissom, who had grabbed their water pitcher out of the refrigerator, had a worried face as he placed it on the counter and reached in the cabinet for a sippy cup. "Is something wrong?"

After grabbing the two jars of baby food she sought from the pantry, she stood next to him at the counter. "Actually, something is finally right." Her point seemed to be punctuated by the popping noise when she released the jar's freshness seal. "I'm off suspension."

She almost felt greedy enjoying the look of her husband. He stood shocked and introspective at that news while his right hand seemed suspended in mid air as it gripped the small Blue's Clues safety spoon he used to feed Daniel. After a brief moment, he finally shook his head. When he spoke he couldn't hide his flustered anxiety. "Did he say?… I mean that's great, Sara… You think it has something to do…"

Sara took the spoon from his hand then took his hands into her own. "He wouldn't tell me anything definitively except he was short personnel and Ecklie agreed to take me off suspension. But I think he was trying to tell me… without telling me… that it has something to do with your case, Gil."

"But we don't know that for sure…"

"I know you don't want to jinx anything or have false hope, but, I think something's happening. So after I got off the phone with Karson I called Wilbur."

"Ma ma ma ma ma ma ma."

Banging fists of an impatient and hungry baby followed the symphony of single syllables. It sparked Grissom to gather up the spoon and jars and sit in front of the high chair. As Grissom settled everything ready to serve, Daniel kicked his feet excitedly while Sara put a bib on him from behind.

Grissom spooned peaches into Daniel's eager mouth. "Did you talk to Wilbur?"

"I did," she said preparing Daniel's bottle of milk for after his snack. "He found the news to be very positive and he wanted to make sure you knew that."

"Could just be the flu," Grissom said, as he continued to feed Daniel. "If he was really short staffed, Conrad must have finally realized you did nothing wrong so it was time you were let off suspension."

"I thought that too," Sara said as she grabbed a chair and sat next to Grissom, "which is why I asked if I should be concerned because you and I really appreciate clear sinuses."

Grissom gave Sara the side eye. "What are you talking about?"

"You know," Sara started, gesturing quote marks with her hands, "clear sinuses."

This time Grissom turned toward her. "Are you doing OK? You haven't developed allergies, have you? Is that why you've been drinking so many smoothies?"

"Hon, no… I'm pregnant… You really don't get what I was trying to say? Clear sinuses? Get it? Clear?" She was met with his patented blank look. "Grissom! Read between the lines. I can't believe you don't get it. Karson did. That's why he said our sinuses would get cleared at work. And that's why Wilbur found the news as positive."

She practically waggled her eyebrows at him and despite not being at the top of his game and waking up each morning counting down the hours until he would inevitably return to prison, her cryptic meaning finally dawned on him.

He just didn't know how much hope to pin on what she said. But he didn't need to give voice to that. He returned to feeding Daniel. "Not sure you guys should quit your day job for code talking."

It wasn't a dig; it was a tease, and it warmed Sara's heart. He might not want to admit it was a sliver of hope but Sara could feel his aura of tension subside. But then, something else dawned on Grissom.

"What did you say?"

"About what? You were the one insulting my code-talking skills."

"No," Grissom said, as he put down the spoon, and turned his attention to Sara. "You're pregnant?"

Sara sat speechless. She didn't even realize she said that. "I said that?"

Grissom smiled at the precious look on Sara's face — her "oh shit" face.

"So? Pregnant, huh?" he asked.

Sara noticed how quite pleased he looked at asking the question. Sara nodded with a huge smile of her own. "I've been wanting to tell you. It's almost slipped out so many times. I never knew when was the right time. I guess… now was the right time." She grabbed his hands. "You happy?"

His smile became softer and he leaned into her and just as he was to kiss her, the impatience of an 11-month-old broke their spell.

Their foreheads against each other, Sara had to laugh. "His highness is still hungry."

Grissom pulled away, picked up the Blue's Clues spoon and finished feeding Daniel.

* * *

When Daniel was ready for the crib, Sara expertly put him down without waking him. She stood by the crib and was surprised to feel Grissom's warm hand slide down her arm. It brought up goosebumps, a reaction Grissom witnessed. "I haven't really told you how much you mean to me. I'm sorry for how I've been acting lately, Sara. I just feel so… defeated… I don't feel like myself and I don't feel I'm … enough for you two… now you three."

Sara knew it would take some time for Grissom and their strained relationship to heal fully, but hearing his words and witnessing Grissom's efforts to reach out served as a much needed balm for her heart. She said nothing as she put her arms around his neck and silenced him with a kiss.

Then Sara fought the threat of tears when Grissom deepened the kiss, something she had hoped for but did not expect. It was Grissom who pulled back first. "Sorry… I shouldn't have…"

"Don't be sorry," Sara pleaded. She had so much more to say, but the words wouldn't come. She just kept her eyes trained on Grissom hoping she could express her love and longing.

All Grissom could see was love and longing in her eyes. "OK," he said softly, a prayer upon his lips.

She took his hand and guided him out of the room. Sara closed the door half way. "I'm not sure I should go back to work yet."

"Is it because you're too tired?" Grissom said nervously. "If you aren't feeling right…"

"No, it's not that. It's not that at all," Sara said. "I think it's still too soon for me to leave you."

"This isn't about me. It's about what's best for you," Grissom said. "You need to get your work life back. It helps you to work. You've been stuck here, dealing with me, dealing with my issues, my problems. It hasn't been fair to Daniel or to you, but especially you."

"Stop saying it like that. Like you're a chore that has to be dealt with," Sara said. "Daniel loves being with you, and so do I. We almost lost you, Gil. You have to realize how hard that was for us."

"And you might lose me again," Grissom said sadly. "So it's best to get back to a normal routine now."

Sara shook her head. "That thinking… It pisses me off so much, Gil."

"I know. It pisses me off, too," Grissom replied. "You think I want to think like that? I don't, Sara. Especially now. God, how did I mess this up so bad…"

"No. I won't let you do that," Sara said. "They are close, Gil. I can feel it."

"Sara, I want to believe that, but until it happens, I can't," Grissom said. "And someone has to remind you that this whole situation is not resolved and might never be."

There it was, that familiar stalemate. Sara bit her lip. She didn't want to yell or fight. She was terribly worried about her husband mentally and physically and she wasn't sure what he would do with his time alone in the house.

But if she were at work, she would have a better chance of seeing what the hell was going on with his case. In her gut, Sara could feel something was definitely happening. She could hear it in the slightly anxious inflection in Karson's voice.

"OK, Gil. I'll go back to work, but it's probably best for now for Daniel to go back to daycare."

Just the mention of daycare took Grissom's breath away and made his hand shake. Sara saw that and enclosed his hand in hers. "He'll be safe there. You know that, right?" She could feel him shake and his eyes were screwed shut as if in pain. "Open your eyes, relax and breathe, hon."

He did as she said. Yet he still had the shakes as the vestiges of the nightmare Rory supplanted in his head lingered. But after a moment he nodded his head. "He's safe there. I know. And I can't care for him by myself."

"But you will soon," Sara said. "Come on. Let's go downstairs. We need to see if you need things to make for yourself while I'm at work."

* * *

When the alarm sounded, Sara popped up in bed. She felt like she's only laid her head down for 10 minutes. She looked to Grissom's side and discovered she was alone in the bed. She got out of bed to see if maybe Grissom went to sleep in the twin bed in Daniel's room, but he wasn't there. She checked Daniel, who was still asleep in his crib.

She padded down the stairs and heard someone in the kitchen. But before she went to inspect that, she went to the living room. There she saw what she suspected. A blanket strewn across the sofa. Grissom must have left their bed to sleep downstairs. He had done that before, especially, Sara suspected, when his nightmares got bad.

With a sigh, she entered the kitchen and saw Grissom scrambling to put on his knee brace before Sara noticed.

It didn't work. _But at least he's wearing the damn thing now,_ Sara thought.

"Good morning," she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Couldn't sleep?"

Grissom shrugged. He looked tired and a bit haggard. "I thought I could help you out. Make some breakfast for you," he got up and grabbed a bagel out of the toaster and started smearing cream cheese on it. "It's not much, but…"

"Thank you, Gil. That was sweet of you," she said as she took the plate from him. "Any coffee?"

As she asked he started pouring her a cup. "Decaf, and there's enough for your take-out cup, too."

"I haven't taken a shower yet, if you want to join me. That way I can help you…"

"I might go upstairs and try to sleep more," Grissom said. "Don't worry about me, Sara. I can handle a shower later."

They didn't talk much after that, with Sara preparing for her first day back and Grissom puttering downstairs in the kitchen and living room. While Sara got Daniel ready, Grissom packed the car. He said his goodbyes to Daniel and Sara in the living room before he retreated to the bedroom.

"He'll be OK at daycare." He said it more as a statement to himself than a question for Sara.

"Yes. He will be fine at daycare," Sara confirmed. "You'll be careful?"

"Yes."

"Promise?"

"Go, Sara."

She left through the kitchen to grab her to-go coffee and saw a different to-go cup and a note. "Coffee is already in the car. Here's a smoothie for you and the little one. Thanks for eating the bagel. Be careful at work. Love, G."


	43. Chapter 43

_A/N: Another awesome job from JellybeanChiChi, who doubled up as beta and co-writer on this chapter._

* * *

CHAPTER 42

Sara sat in the Prius, hands gathered tightly in her lap, as she regarded the entrance to the CSI HQ building. Her nervousness was on high alert, and she felt like a rookie on her first day on the job.

Realizing she ran the risk of running late, she took a breath and started a pep talk. "Come on, Sidle. You're a level 3 CSI with 10 years under your belt. Get a grip and go to work." With that, she exited her car, locked it, and hurried into the lab.

Sara could still feel anxious tension as she strolled the hall to the locker room. She couldn't tell if her anxiety was warranted or just in her head. But as she passed by different labs, rooms and offices, she hadn't heard anyone welcome her back. But she did see people avoid her gaze more than once.

But just as she began to feel sorry for herself, she heard a familiar voice. "Hello, Sara."

Kahlil sported a smile as he greeted Sara. A brief smile tugged at her lips, despite her anxiety. She felt if there were one person on day shift she could count on, along with Karson, it would be Kahlil. Even when circumstances had been at their worst, it was Kahlil who had quietly offered support.

"Hi Kahlil. How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you," he said modestly. "Shall we?"

The two entered the conference room together, Sara grateful to have someone with her. It made her feel less alone and less on display. She sat down at the table with her fellow shift mates, immediately noticing neither Karen O'Shea nor Patrick Davies was on staff.

Before addressing the group, Karson paused briefly to pass Sara a smile. "We're all here, so let's get to work. We've got a big caseload, and I wanted to thank everyone for showing up for shift."

"When's Karen coming back?" one of Sara's co-workers asked.

"And Patrick?" another colleague asked.

As her colleagues posed the question that served as two elephants in the room, Sara could feel tension rise and head her way. She felt the stares of her colleagues upon her.

Karson witnessed the silent exchange and went to close the door. He returned to where everyone was seated and put both hands, palm down, on the table. "We are a team here and I expect every member to do their job efficiently and professionally. Despite recent events in the last eight weeks, I still expect that from every single one of you. Our shift has been rocked, terribly. Trusts have been broken by people we all trusted and people have been hurt. But I will not tolerate anything short of teamwork from all of you. There will not be alliances made with others against others. That will not be tolerated in any way, shape or form. We are a bare bones shift right now and there will be changes to our shift in the future. But for now we are five men and women who will work together to do our job — solve cases and be the voice for victims. I am going to ask every single one of you to answer me when I ask, 'Have I made myself clear?'"

With that he asked each person by name if they understood, and each person responded with, "Yes, sir."

"Now, if you need to talk to me about anything, and I mean anything, my door is open," Karson said. "I know you have asked me questions about other members on shift. I can tell you that Karen should return in three days time, unless something changes. As for Patrick, I do not have a definitive answer. When I do, I will tell you all honestly."

With that, Karson passed out the assignments.

* * *

Karen had arrived back to work in three days time, just as Karson said. He had suggested to Sara not to come in that shift but she was adamant about coming into work. There was too much work to do, and Sara told Karson, "If I do not reflect the professionalism you expect or I am a source of contention, I will go home."

It was a deal, and one Sara didn't take lightly. Although it felt good to get back to work, things at home did not get easier. Every morning Sara woke up alone as Grissom would retreat to the sofa, or, as two on occasions, never left the living room for the bedroom.

He would snap or jump every once in a while, but he never had harsh words for Sara and had spent as much time as he could with Daniel. He was reserved and Sara could feel him retreating into himself. He couldn't leave the house because of the ankle bracelet. He hadn't received any visitors or calls from anyone other than Sara and his mother.

His attitude worried Sara, who used a lot of her free time to research depression, post trauma and available therapies. There were several things she wanted to share with Grissom. But she knew she couldn't broach the subject with him until there was some resolution in the case.

And that was the biggest problem. Sara truly thought she might glean some information after returning to work, but everything was tight-lipped. She knew it had something to do with Patrick but no one was willing to share that gossip with her. And unfortunately, Wilbur was locked in another case and couldn't make as much headway as he wanted soliciting information in Grissom's case. While he had called and emailed Sayers several times, there were no responses back.

There was one person who did know what was happening, and that was Karen O'Shea. On her drive to work that third day, Sara pepped herself up again. Maybe the two women could set aside their differences. If Karen were in some way involved in Grissom's frame-up and kidnapping, maybe she would have some remorse that would lead her to share with Sara. Maybe Sara needed to be the big person and tell Karen the slate was clean. They had worked together occasionally. They were both female CSIs, so they should make a united front.

But as she entered CSI, she saw Karen and the two women locked eyes in a silent challenge. Despite Sara's pep talk, she knew the two of them would never be friends and that Karen would never openly share her involvement in the events that had led to Grissom being accused of murder.

Karen showed her true colors all too many times; she was simply a sloppy, second-rate criminalist who loved to gossip. She and Sara had exchanged heated words over Sara's relationship with Grissom more than once. Karson had once overheard Karen lewdly asking if sleeping with her boss and consequently baring his child had helped to further her career. Karson had been quick to put the younger CSI in place, citing Sara's higher solve rate was down to merit, and nothing else.

No, clearly there would be no united front. Yet, recalling her promise to Karson, Sara simply nodded at Karen with a blank expression. Karen in turn glared at Sara with a stare that was meant to turn her to stone, but Sara was already a rock solid person with a respectable career and a loving home life. No glare with the office loser could challenge that.

After that moment, both women tried to avoid each other as much as they could.

* * *

Ladd Sayers parked his Mercedes Benz turbo convertible in a spot far away from the other residents of the Kalula Apartment complex. He undid his tie and the top two buttons of his dress shirt as he looked at his reflection in his car's vanity mirror. He coiffed his hair, making sure his slightly receding hairline didn't seem as stark. He grabbed the bottle of wine in the front seat and exited his Benz full of excitement.

That was until he immediately bumped into someone.

"Jesus Wilbur!" Sayers jumped in surprise. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Hello Ladd," Wilbur said, his face and tone calm and collected. "I've been waiting for you to arrive."

"Really? Waiting?" Sayers was sweating a bit under the heat of the setting sun. His tone was both angry and nervous. "What the hell are you playing at?"

"I've been trying to get in touch with you for days, so I figured this would be the most civil place to get your attention."

"Yeah, real civil," Sayers said, looking over his shoulder every once in a while. He was overly cautious, as any man would be in the parking lot of his mistress' apartment complex. "Look anything we need to say to one another can be done during office hours."

Wilbur stood in his path before Sayers could get toward his destination. "If you prefer we talk inside Apartment 352, I would be more than happy to go with you, however, I think it is best you take a few moments now and get things cleared up now."

"Should I even ask how you knew I would be here?"

Wilbur Jacobsen knew better than to offer up that information. He simply kept his expression even and neglected to answer the question. "Why wasn't I informed that another man was charged with the murder of Jake Sullivan?"

Sayers knew Jacobsen would ask that question, but he still didn't feel like offering any civil exchange. "I'm not having this discussion with you right now, Jacobsen."

"Patrick Davies was charged with the murder of Jake Sullivan three days ago." No longer was Jacobsen's tone civil or even. "I want to know why I was not informed of this arrest and why my client is still under police custody when another man has been charged."

"Davies was charged for his role in the murder of Jake Sullivan, but that doesn't mean that Grissom had no hand in it."

"Give me a break, Ladd," Jacobsen said. "The evidence you relied on to hang that crime on Grissom has been turned around to hang the crime on Davies. Think about it logically, Ladd. You can't have two men wear the same pair of boots. You'll lose on both defendants."

While Ladd Sayers had not returned any of Jacobsen's calls, that didn't stop the lawyer and his private detective from finding out the progress of the case. Ellis Crossan, the prison guard who was with Rory Dunbar during Grissom's time in the warehouse, had not said a word to authorities despite being found in the hotel room with Rory's dead body.

But once he was told Patrick Davies was in custody, Crossan became a motormouth. It would seem that Davies was supposed to get rid of evidence that would implicate Crossan in any way but was neglecting that duty. So the honor among thieves disappeared and Crossan spoke about his role, Fromansky's role and most importantly Davies' role. Davies had killed Jake Sullivan that night after he had already stolen Grissom's shoes. It was all the CSI's idea, who said he could stage the perfect set-up crime. Even if Grissom's shoes were too small for Davies' feet.

Davies was also at the motel where Dunbar was killed. And the two men were pointing the finger at each other as to who landed the fatal blow with a knife to Rory's femoral artery.

But the one thing Crossan never confessed was that Grissom was part of any plan to kill Jake Sullivan or any plan to break out of prison. "This was all about Rory Dunbar's need for revenge," Crossan said. "He didn't care who got involved. He didn't care how much money it took. He didn't care who had to die. He thought that Grissom guy did the unforgivable, and he was going to make him pay."

"You know he had nothing to do with any of these crimes, Ladd. Between what the guard has confessed and want Hobson offered there is not a grand jury around who would recommend a trial," Jacobsen continued. "For God's sake, hasn't he been through enough for doing absolutely nothing wrong?"

"OK, Grissom probably had nothing to do with the jail break and he might not have committed the actual murder of Jake Sullivan," Sayers conceded, "but that doesn't mean he never paid Davies to kill Jake Sullivan in the first place."

"That might be true if there wasn't evidence that David Fromansky was the one who paid Patrick Davies for the crime!" Jacobsen said in a raised voice.

Sayers grabbed Jacobsen's arm. "Stop shouting."

Jacobsen pulled his arm away. "Stop being an asshole about this. You were wrong, Ladd. Dead wrong. So make this right. Drop the charges on Grissom. If you don't, I will be forced to press civil charges against you and your office."

"You think you can come down here and make demands and then threaten me?" Sayers voice was seething. "There's no proof of Grissom's total innocence. Ask that CSI who used to work for him, you know, the one that said he committed the crime in the first place? Grissom hated Sullivan."

Jacobsen calmed himself and looked at his fellow attorney forlornly. "This will bury you, Ladd. For the sake of your career, swallow your pride, do the right thing and drop this."

Before Sayers could offer a retort, Jacobsen turned and left with the last word.


	44. Chapter 44

_A/N: A joint effort from Jelly and I on this chapter, with Jellybean also doing another awesome beta as well. After today's chapter it's likely that I'll only be posting once a week again, I'm now only 4 chapters ahead, and I don;t want to leave you guys hanging with a huge gap, until new chapters are ready. If that changes, I will of course, post 2x chapters a week again._

* * *

CHAPTER 43

Grissom's favorite time of the day became around 6 o'clock when Sara would come home with Daniel. It was the fourth day since Sara returned to work, and Grissom had to admit he looked forward to this time tomorrow because that would mean the whole family could be together for two days. He missed Sara and Daniel during the day, and the time he spent away from them made him relive time he spent in prison.

He didn't eat much when he was home alone. Nothing seemed to taste good and he always felt tired when he was by himself. When he tried to rest, the nightmares returned just as they would at night when he tried to sleep, which is why he spent more time on the couch than in his bed. He knew his mood was increasingly removed, forlorn, and he could tell Sara was worried about him. But in little over a week, he might be looking at returning to prison.

There was hope that something would be discovered to prevent going to prison, but as the days dragged on with little or no word, Grissom became more convinced being cleared of charges was false hope. He knew he couldn't say that to Sara because it would only start a fight. They didn't speak much to one another as it was, he didn't want what little words spoken to be an argument.

So when she came home from work, he tried to have something ready to eat, even it was a simple noodle dish or rice casserole or a salad with protein. He might not be eating, but he was happy to see that Sara was still eating.

And he spent time with Daniel. His mother had been right. It was his responsibility to spend time with Daniel while he could. He might not ever remember his father, but at least there could be a foundation of love in the boy's heart. And maybe Daniel could pass that love down to his little brother or sister.

Daniel loved to crawl to the bay windows in the family room and watch the swifts flit and fly from bush to bush. And the boy truly loved when an occasional hummingbird would use the feeder right by the window. That's what caught Daniel's eye at that moment.

Grissom watched as the sun basked around the boy giving him a lovely, innocent glow as he sat down near the window and looked outside. Although the boy was content, Grissom couldn't resist the urge to pick him up and hold him in his arms as they both looked outside.

The scenery was peaceful, until he saw a police car slowly pull up and park in front of his lawn. Grissom felt his chest tighten and barely called out for Sara before his throat constricted. He held onto Daniel tight.

Sara ran in from the kitchen. "What's the matter?"

She saw what made the color drain from her husband's face. A police officer was exiting his car and speaking into the radio on his shoulder. He checked the gun in his holster and leaned against the car staring at the house.

"He's going to take me back to prison."

Sara had never heard Grissom's voice more frightened and hollow. "I'm going to go outside."

Grissom's eyes glazed and all he could see was the officer. The man in his late 20s took a step away from his car and with his hand still on his holster, he walked toward the house. Although Grissom held Daniel, he could feel his own arms shake. He couldn't take his eyes away from the officer. It was as if he was a singular human being in a tunnel making his way toward Grissom and tear his world apart.

When the front door opened, Grissom tore his gaze away from the window. He saw the cop standing with Sara and Wilbur. Grissom swallowed the lump in his throat and felt like a trapped animal. He took a step away from the window, but couldn't figure out where to step, where to hide.

"You can't take me yet," he said frantically. "I was supposed to have more time. Please… don't take me yet."

Sara went to approach him, but Wilbur gently put his hand on her arm. "Let me try first," he said softly before walking toward Grissom. "Gil, this isn't what you think…"

"Three weeks! It was supposed to be three weeks!" Grissom shouted. "And you said I wouldn't have to worry…"

"You don't, Gil. Now, stop and listen."

Grissom stopped moving and Wilbur beckoned for Sara to come next to him.

"He's not here to arrest you or take you away," Wilbur said. "The DA dropped the charges against you, Gil."

Confused and anxious, Grissom didn't know how to process what was said. "What? But the officer…"

"He's here to take off the ankle bracelet, hon, that's all," Sara said going to his side. "It's over."

"I'm not going back to jail?"

"No," Wilbur confirmed.

Grissom planted a kiss on top of Daniel's head and fought back tears as he let Sara guide him into the kitchen so the officer could do his job.

* * *

After forms were signed, the officer left the house. Wilbur smiled as he witnessed Grissom looking down his leg and he rolled his now free ankle.

"Feels a helluva lot better I bet," Wilbur said. "Like the weight of the world removed."

"Literally and figuratively," Grissom said. "Thank you, Wilbur."

"Yes, thank you," Sara said. "I can't believe this is happening."

"My pleasure," Wilbur said with a smile.

"Are you hungry?"

Grissom's question caught the lawyer off guard. "Well, that depends on the cuisine."

He felt the stumble on his face and the wrinkled khaki shorts he wore. "Maybe something casual. Like pizza?"

"You want to go out?" Sara asked.

"Yeah, I think I do," Grissom said. "I mean, Wilbur, you deserve a better meal from us, but if you don't mind something casual now…"

"First of all, I would never turn down a free meal. Secondly, you both deserve a better meal so the next one will be on me."

"Sounds like a deal to me," Sara said. "Wilbur, would you mind watching Daniel while the two of us freshen up?"

Wilbur took the boy's hands in his and swooped the boy in the air garnering full-blown laughs. "I'd love to," said the experienced grandpa. "The two of us can discuss final financial arrangements."

Sara laughed at the comment while Grissom looked befuddled. "I'll explain upstairs."

* * *

The couple enjoyed the small celebration with their lawyer, who insisted they drive to Grissom's mother's house to share the news with her. Betty joined them for dinner, and held Jacobsen's hand as much as she did her own son's as a show of gratitude for what the lawyer did for their family. Sara chose a small family eatery that was not crowded. They all enjoyed house wine, homemade pizza and the company of friends and family, without the specter of a future trial and prison sentence.

On the drive back from Betty's house, Grissom looked in the back seat at Daniel, who was passed out asleep with his head cocked to the side. He reached over with a tissue to wipe the line of drool on the boy's face. "He's down for the count," Grissom said. "I'll put him straight into the crib."

"He had a big evening," Sara said. "We all did."

"I can't believe it."

"What?"

"This. This … feeling."

"You feel lighter?"

"I guess you could say that. I'm not sure how to describe it. I still feel something, but I still feel like something's gone too." He shook his head. "Doesn't make sense, I know."

"That's OK," Sara said. "Hey, do you think it was wrong for me to ask him about the family emergency he had?"

"You mean when he was away when Hobson took my case?"

"Yeah," Sara said. "I felt kind of awful that I never asked before. He said he couldn't take your case because of a family emergency. You think that was wrong for me to ask? Because he seemed… I don't know."

"Like he was holding back a detail?"

"Yeah, exactly," Sara said. "I'm sure it was horrible getting a call that his brother was carjacked. But maybe I shouldn't have asked."

"Well, I don't think you offended him. It didn't seem to change his demeanor for the rest of the evening. But I could tell when he was thinking about it, there was something amiss."

The two stayed quiet for a moment. What Jacobsen held back was the fact that it was most likely Rory Dunbar who facilitated the carjacking to ensure Jacobsen was not around to take Grissom's case. While Jacobsen would never hold that notion against the Grissoms, he didn't want to share that idea with them either. He feared they, especially Grissom, would blame themselves for something completely out of their control.

Sara pulled into their driveway and waited for their garage door to open. "Did you have fun tonight?"

"Yeah," he reached over and grabbed her hand. "Did you?"

"More than I had in a long time," she said. "After you put Daniel down, you want to watch a movie? Maybe in our bed?"

"Why not in the living room? The TV is nicer there."

The last thing Sara wanted to do was spend time in the living room. If they did, there was a good chance Grissom would sleep on the couch again. She didn't want to force him to do anything, but she wanted to return to a routine where they slept in bed together. "I just thought it would be nice to wash up and put on our jammies and cuddle together."

Grissom's smile was soft and warm. "OK. Maybe you could help me take a shower?"

Sara fought the threat of tears. He'd not allowed her to help him since he's first night home from the hospital. It served as another step forward in their relationship. "Of course I can," she said as causally as possible.

* * *

After their shower together, Sara helped Grissom to dry off, taking extra care on his back. They sat on the bed together as Sara held a towel. Scars criss-crossed most of his back in wild disarray. Her throat constricted. Witnessing the pain he endured as he was recovering was bad enough without imagining the pain he felt as he was being tortured. That thought caused her to lean forward and gently kiss each and every laceration. Initially, Grissom jumped at the first touch of her lips, but soon relaxed as her touch warmed his skin. Sara relished the long-missed feeling of snuggling with her husband.

Grissom turned around to face her. His expression seemed to be filled with an unspoken apology. She recalled his words from a few days ago, how he didn't feel he was enough, how he felt defeated.

She tried to silence those unspoken woes with a kiss. When she felt Grissom's fingers in her hair she let out a moan of desire. When they broke apart, Grissom held her gaze a few seconds longer than he normally would, before he glanced down.

"Sara...I...can't..."

She smiled and placed both her hands on his face, and gently lifted his head to look at her.

"Sweetheart, I understand. While I'd love nothing more than to make love with you, I know that you still have a lot more healing to do. Right now, being like this with you is enough. Because you're enough, Gil. You always have been and always will be."

This time he was the one to ease her fears with a kiss. When they eventually broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers. "I want to be able to make things right..."

"We've been over this. You have nothing to make right, Gil. None of this is your fault."

"I'm not sure that's true, but even if it isn't I have to work harder for you. For us." He pressed his lips to hers, in a quick kiss. "And right now that means, making sure you get some sleep. You're exhausted."

"I don't want to wake up alone, Gil," Sara said. "Please?"

Grissom bit his lip. He still feared sleeping. He knew he thrashed. He knew sometimes he screamed. But he needed to make things right, and if Sara needed him with her, that is where he needed to be.

"OK, my love. I'll be right next to you."

They kissed once more before Sara snuggled up to Grissom as he lay on his right side. She felt more at peace than she had in months.

And for him, there was a feeling of peace and happiness as well. He hoped it would be enough to subside any bad unconscious thoughts. At least for one night.

* * *

Grissom's eyes moved rapidly, as unease spread throughout his body. A deep frown marred his once peaceful countenance. Sweat began to bead on his face, soaking through his sleep shirt. Sara had rolled away onto her left side, and so her slumber remained undisturbed by her restless sleeping partner.

Grissom's chest rose and fell rapidly, as dread enveloped him like a shroud.

 _Though his shoulders ached dully, he snuggled Daniel closer. The officer was standing at his car and it felt like his steely gaze was burning a hole in the window glass that separated them. The officer never took his hand off his holstered gun._

 _Distress evident on his face he turned to Sara and tried to swallow around the large lump lodged in his throat, as the moment he'd been both dreading and knew was coming descended down on him._

 _A deep sense of regret at the way he'd acted around Sara and his son, added to his distress. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, he should have taken this time, as a second chance to be with his family, making as many memories as he could, to carry him through the bleak years ahead. He'd wanted to make this moment as easy for them as he could, but he was selfishly realizing, that he'd only been making it easier on himself. He'd failed them both, as a husband and a father._

 _The officer was taking long steps towards the window, right towards Grissom and Daniel. But this time, the gun was not holstered. He held it firmly in his hand. Then he was inside the house and was right in front of Grissom as he held Daniel._

 _Then Grissom heard Rory's voice command, "_ Take the shot!"

 _The officer moved his weapon to Daniel's head and shot the boy before Grissom could react._

" _Daniel!_ " Grissom screamed as he bolted upright in the bed.

His heart raced as panic and despair descended over him. Although his eyes were wide with terror he still believed he was inside the dream. The gunman's was face frozen in front of Grissom's mind but in the darkness he didn't know where he was.

Then something stirred beside him. When he felt a touch against his arm, he lunged as the shape loomed in the darkness. Consumed with fear, and disorientated from his nightmare, Grissom instinctively lashed out. A cry of pain filled the room. In his highly anxious state, the sound failed to register with Grissom.

"Gil, it's me! Sara!" Sara's pained voice filled the surrounding darkness, as she reached out to him. "Gil, you're safe, sweetheart. It was a bad dream."

Now aware he was no longer dreaming, Grissom broke down in sobs. Sara carefully embraced her shaking and terrified husband.

"Daniel. He-he shot...he shot Daniel." Grissom's emotional voice was sad and broken. "Rory...Rory's voice...he said...take..take the sh-shot. The officer...sh-shot Dan…"

Sara gently rubbed Grissom's shoulders, keeping her voice low and clam. "Sweetheart, it was an another nightmare. Daniel's safe and well, and sleeping in the room across the hall. I can hear him breathing on the baby monitor. He's absolutely fine, baby. Listen, okay?"

Sara reached for the baby monitor on her side of the bed. Bringing the monitor closer, she adjusted the volume slightly. Daniel's soft regular breathing came reassuringly through the speaker. The sound distorted slightly as he moved into a more comfortable spot, before once again becoming restful.

"Sweetheart, he's just fine, sleeping soundly," Sara again reassured him, putting the monitor back on his night table.

Grissom hung his head, working to calm his erratic breathing. His fists clenched and unclenched in his lap, as Sara continued to gently rub along his shoulders and back.

"No, don't go," she said feeling him rise out of bed. "Stay with me, OK."

Eventually, her soothing tones were enough to comfort him, and she managed to coax him to lie back down. Grissom laid quietly in the darkness, listening to the rhythmic breathing of his son, coming through the monitor. He wasn't sure how much time had passed before Sara's slow breathing indicated that sleep had finally reclaimed her. It was almost two hours before sleep finally claimed him.


	45. Chapter 45

_A/N: Another amazing beta from JellybeanChiChi_

* * *

CHAPTER 44

It felt like only an hour had passed when Sara's alarm sounded. Hoping not to disturb Grissom, Sara quickly turned it off. She wondered how much sleep he managed to get. She knew he'd still been awake when she'd nodded off. Exhaustion slowed her movements as she headed for the shower.

He had been right that work was an outlet she needed. She smiled somewhat ruefully. He knew her too well.

But anxiety gnawed at her this morning. Although he had spent four days on his own, she was worried about leaving him alone today. He seemed like he did so well yesterday, but the nightmare was more tumultuous than she had ever witnessed with him. It took her by surprise that he lashed out so physically. She had to admit her husband might be a science geek, but he can throw a punch.

It was while she was drying her hair, that she noticed the bruise under her right eye. She stared with dismay at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

"Well, shit."

She touched it gently, and winced at its tenderness. She knew that he hadn't meant to hit her. The had nightmare frightened him out of his mind.

But she also knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't see it that way. He would feel immensely guilty if he realized he struck her, and even worse he caused a bruise.

She tried a dab of makeup and suddenly she felt like her mother who tried to hide bruises made by her father's hand. While Sara had absolutely no desire to follow that path in life, she knew there was a huge difference between how her mother got her bruises and how Sara got hers. Growing up in a violent household, Sara had learned the distinction between accidental and deliberate. She hoped her husband would come to that realization as well, otherwise he would feel like an abuser and all the progress they had made thus far might be ruined.

Sara exited the bathroom, hoping Grissom was still asleep. If she could preempt him seeing the bruise until the evening, at least they would have two full days together to rebuild anything that might be disrupted from the nightmare. And maybe he might be up to talking about the research she had discovered about recovering from PTSD.

But he wasn't in the room. So she had to change plans. While she dressed, she thought of the best way to get out of the house fast and with little notice of her eye. She could hitch Daniel on her shoulder in such a way that it could hide her eye a little bit. That with the makeup will make the bruise unnoticeable. Then she could tell Grissom she has to leave right away with Daniel so she could get in the lab for an early meeting she almost forgot about. "Yes. Good plan, Sara," she said aloud to herself.

"What's a good plan?"

She wasn't the only person to hear her statement. Grissom was behind her holding Daniel, who had been dressed for the day.

Not willing to abandon her plan, she scooped Daniel out of Grissom's arms and settled him into her right side. While she wanted to keep her eyes averted in other directions, as if she was distracted, she couldn't tear her stare away from her husband. It was easy to see he had not gotten much sleep after all. The bruising around his eyes and face had turned a sickly green/yellow over the last few days, but she could still make out the dark circles of exhaustion around his eyes.

"I hate to say this, but I have to get going now," she said, shifting Daniel as he fidgeted to be closer to Daddy. "I forgot I had a meeting with Karson before shift starts, and I need to get this wriggle bug to day care."

"You've not eaten anything," Grissom pointed out.

"I'll grab something after I've dropped Dan off..."

Irritation flashed in his eyes, but was quickly gone replaced by concern. "Sara, are you wearing makeup?"

"I always wear make-up."

Before she could turn away or head out the bedroom door, Grissom closed the gap between them. He took his finger and smeared the foundation she had put over her bruise. She reflexively winced as his finger touched the surface.

"What's happened to your eye?" he asked quietly, and Sara closed her eyes with a sigh of resignation. "Sara?" Grissom's quite voice insisted. "I know that wasn't there before you went to bed."

Slowly she witnessed realization at what he'd done. His deep, ocean blue eyes held sorrow and horror.

"I hit you?"

"Gil, you were asleep…"

"Oh my God," he muttered, his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed with difficulty. "I'm… I'm so sorry."

Sara was quick to reassure him. "Honey, it's OK. I'm fine. It was an accident. You'd just had a terrible nightmare. It's nothing."

"It's not nothing!" Grissom said.

"Gil, calm down." This was the exact reaction Sara hoped to avoid. "This was something that was out of your control…"

"No, don't make excuses like that," Grissom said quietly, unable to look at her, as shame burned him. "I can't believe I did that to you. How could I do that to you?"

"Gil," she pleaded, taking a step forward, but he held up his hands to stop any further advancement.

"What I did… it's unacceptable. You should know that," Grissom said, visibly shaking. "That's why you hid that from me, isn't it?"

The situation was getting worse instead of better. "Look, neither of us got a decent night's sleep, and I really don't want to fight with you, Gil," Sara started.

"Why would you? I might hit you again."

"Gil, come on, you know that's not true," Sara said. "Please understand you can't blame yourself for what happened."

Although the last thing she wanted to do was to leave him like this, she realized she wasn't going to get anywhere with him until he'd fully processed what had happened. She hoped he could come to the same conclusion as her.

"Do you hate me?"

"What?! No. Of course not," Sara said. "You were scared Grissom. You thought someone killed Daniel. You had no idea what was happening."

"Maybe you should. I hurt you. I could have hurt our child." He shook his head and sat down on their bed. He cradled his head in his hands. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Sara. I'm so sorry."

She tried not to let his attitude get the best of her. She was low on sleep and low on calories. But she was determined to have the last word on the matter, "Gil, I used to have nightmares myself, remember? It wasn't my fault when I thrashed, and it wasn't your fault for what happened."

"I'm just like your father."

Sara felt the heartbreak of that statement in the pit of her stomach. She hesitated a moment, still reluctant to leave him, but Daniel was starting to fuss. She didn't want to let that be the final word, but she was afraid if she countered what he said, he would counter back with something even worse. So she chose to ignore it and instead she went to him and put her fingers through his hair, "Don't forget to put on your knee brace, OK?" She then kissed him on top of his head. "I love you," she said. She hoped he would lift his head up to say goodbye, but he didn't.

With a sigh she left with Daniel to go downstairs.

Grissom lifted up his head and clenched his fists tightly as they shook with self-directed anger. His chest rose and fell quickly as his breathing grew ragged.

He'd never raised his hand to a woman in his life. It broke his heart he struck his beloved Sara. With her family history he couldn't understand how she could be so forgiving when he couldn't even forgive himself. She might say it was accidental, but in reality Grissom saw himself as being no better than her father. Or the many abusive husbands and boyfriends he'd helped put behind bars during his career as a CSI.

Sara had been so patient and understanding as he was recovering and this was how he repaid her. He really didn't deserve her. Rory had had many faults but he'd been right about one thing — Grissom really was a worthless piece of shit. Hitting Sara only cemented that idea in his mind. He'd deserved everything that had happened to him and more.

Bile unsettled his stomach. He felt the urge to vomit. The woman who carried thier child now carried a visible wound of how he hurt her. He knew there was no penance for his actions, but he couldn't live with himself without begging for her forgiveness.

He hadn't heard the garage door open, so he thought he might be able to catch her before she left.

Forgetting about anything — from his shoes to his knee brace to his physical condition — he stood and left the room like a shot. With little caution he trampled down the stairs, but after only a few steps, his left knee started to give out while his other leg kept going. Unable to catch himself properly on the banister, his hand slipped and he tumbled down the steps.

His knee twisted and buckled and hit the wood stairs hard. By the time he reached the bottom, Grissom was completely turned around and his left leg was painfully lodged between two of the banister columns.

Once the initial shock of his fall had worn off, Grissom tried to level his breathing. But when he saw his leg pinned in the columns, he panicked and pulled the leg. An excruciating, blinding pain burst from his left knee and Grissom screamed in agony.

He froze and an agony-filled sob filled the silence of the house. His left knee throbbed and pulsed. He glanced around the room, with pain-filled eyes, trying to figure out the best way he could help himself out his predicament, but his brain was too focused on the pain. He was nowhere near the cordless phone and his cellular was in the bedroom.

Maybe if he managed to get into an upright position, he might be able to think a bit more clearly. Grissom took a steadying breath, and bit his bottom lip, as he braced himself for the pain that he knew would come. Keeping his movements as gentle as he could, Grissom worked to dislodge his leg from the columns. He uttered a groan of agony, sweat stinging his red-rimmed eyes, as his efforts drenched him in sweat, plastering his hair to his forehead.

His blanched face was soaked in sweat and his cheeks streaked with tears. He'd only been there a few minutes and it was already getting extremely uncomfortable. He knew that his discomfort would only increase the longer he stayed where he was.

 _A fitting punishment for hitting Sara,_ he reasoned guiltily. _I don't deserve her or her forgiveness. I'm a fucking worthless coward just like Dunbar said. I'm an arrogant bastard who ruins lives. I don't deserve to be her husband. I don't deserve to be their father._

Those were his thoughts as swirls of darkness clouded his vision. He wondered if Sara's life would be easier if he died on the floor.


	46. Chapter 46

_A/N: Another awesome beta from JellybeanChiChi._

* * *

CHAPTER 45

Stowing her things in her locker, Sara caught another quick glimpse of herself in the mirror. With dismay, she realized there was a good chance no one would believe the truth about the bruise. Hell, if people she had counted on as friends had turned their backs on her and her family, what hope did she have with anyone else? If she were to be honest about the matter, considering recent events, they would crucify Gil.

 _Then why the hell should I try to hide it? Gil knew straight away something was up._ Sara pondered to herself. _It's really no one else's business, and Gil certainly didn't intend to hit me. I'm the only one who has to believe that._

She closed her locker, reflecting on how many times she had heard that defense from both her mother and abuse victims over the years. Her view had been jaded on the sensitive subject, and now she was in a position she'd never thought she would find herself in — a black eye given by her husband.

But no one who knew Gil well would ever believe he was capable of violence towards her. Except, they did think he was capable of murder, and because of that Sara knew, whether she explained the situation or tried to hide it, friends and colleagues would automatically think the worst.

Still lost in her thoughts, Sara headed towards Karson's office hoping he might be in and give her an assignment, even though she was an hour early for work. She was rounding a corner when she literally bumped into Nick. She repressed a sigh of dismay. Despite his help in clearing Grissom, he was the last person she wanted to see right now. So far, his efforts to mend the rift between them hadn't gone well. If he notices her eye, it would only get worse.

"Hey Sara," Nick greeted warily.

Sara murmured an apology, after all, her mind had been on other things, and she'd not really been watching where she was going. As she moved passed him, however, he grabbed her arm.

"Hey, is everything all right?" his voice filled with concern.

Despite her irritation at his audacity, she knew that what he really wanted to know was if Grissom was being violent towards her. _So it begins,_ she thought sadly to herself.

Mustering up a brief smile, she nodded quickly. "Everything's just fine, Nick. I was just rushing and didn't see you."

"Yeah, but your eye."

She shrugged her shoulders. "I wasn't expecting Daniel to slug me with one of his toys."

The narrowing of his eyes, and tightening of his jaw, told Sara that he saw right through her lie.

"He did that, didn't he?"

Anger flashed briefly in her dark eyes, and she thrust her chin up defiantly. He'd already made an erroneous assumption about her husband, once. She pulled her arm free of his grasp with more force than was needed. "You need to stay out of what you don't understand, Nick. I need to go." Turning, she stalked down the hall to the break room, feeling Nick's concerned eyes burning into her back.

* * *

Sara breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Karson in his office. She knocked on the door.

"Hey, you're early," Karson said.

"I thought I could get an early start today."

"Come in," Karson said. "Take a seat."

Sara sat down. "So, we got good news last night. Gil's been cleared."

Karson stood up with a smile and passed by Sara's chair to close the door. "That is good news, Sara. Really good news."

"Not good for Patrick."

"No, it isn't. I was going to let the team know today everything that has transpired," Karson said as he leaned against his desk and his eyes searched her face. "You know if you need to...talk...about anything, I'm here and it's always confidential. You know that, right?"

"I appreciate that, but everything's fine, really."

Karson folded his arms across his chest. "Really?" he asked, allowing his concern to show. "Sara, I'm gonna be honest, I'm worried about you. You and your husband have been dragged through hell and back, more than once. You've experienced things that would bring most couples to their knees. Granted, you've come through the other side, but not without some consequences, and long-lasting scars. Now, your eye tells me that everything isn't fine. I promise that whatever you tell me, stays between us and I'm not here to judge."

Sara searched his face, seeing nothing but complete understanding. She found herself floundering. The weight of pushing to prove Grissom's innocence along with the abandonment of her friends, people she had trusted, served as a heavy burden on her shoulders. She'd pushed through it, because if she hadn't Gil would still be facing a life sentence in prison. He was fortunate to have survived all the brutal beatings that he'd suffered. She couldn't allow herself, even now to fall apart. She had to remain strong for Daniel and Grissom's sake.

But perhaps, just for once, she could share the burden. In the end, Karson had been there for her, never giving up on finding the evidence to free her husband.

With a sigh, Sara made up her mind.

"After everything he suffered at Rory's hands, Gil has terrible nightmares," she explained. "They get really bad. For the last few nights he hadn't been sleeping with me at all. I figured it was because of the nightmares. But last night, after hearing that just… incredible news, I thought he would be OK. But he wasn't. He had never had a nightmare that bad. He woke up screaming, sweating and disorientated. Before I had chance to calm him, he lashed out. It was an accident."

"Has this ever happened before?"

Sara shook her head. "No. It's the first and only time. And he had never, ever raised his hand toward me. Ever. And I trust my husband that he would never raise his hand towards me. You have to believe me when I say that, Karson."

"I believe you."

Sara let out a cleansing breath. "You have no idea what it means to me to hear you say that. All this time, people who I thought loved, adored Gil Grissom were convinced he was violent."

Karson took a chair and placed it next to Sara's. "Tell me what happened last night."

"Like I said, he woke up terrified. He was convinced someone shot Daniel," Sara said. "He didn't even realize he hit me. Not until this morning. I tried to cover up my eye with makeup, but he knew immediately. When he saw what he'd done he was horrified."

Karson took a moment, to consider her words, before he nodded. There had been sincerity in her tone, and while he was still concerned he had no reason to doubt her. "You OK to work today?"

"I almost didn't come in because I didn't know if it was better to stick around with him, you know?" she said. "I did my best to reassure him. And even though he thinks the worst about himself now, I am hoping he can think this through. I'm still not sure I should have left him."

"It'll be tough for him to deal with his issues and emotions alone."

"That's true," Sara said. "I've been doing a lot of research on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and I did find an interesting therapy that they say is one of the best. I even called this nun in Florida about it."

Karson chucked. "You called a nun about PTSD? Like one in a habit?"

"Well, I saw her photo and she wasn't in a habit."

"So it was a religious sister."

"Karson, your Catholicism is showing," Sara teased, very much appreciating the levity.

"OK, so you called a religious sister about this therapy?"

"Yeah, I did," Sara said. "She actually works with first responders with post trauma and she had a lot of good advice. She even said she would try to find some information about therapists here using her connections. She even invited us for one of the retreats she runs."

"Sounds like a good source and for me personally, Sara, it makes me feel good that you are researching this," Karson said. "I just hope your husband is open to the idea."

"I think he would be after what happened," Sara said. "It's time I talked to him about it."

"As soon as possible," Karson said, looking at his slips. "Look, since you're here, why don't you take this robbery on South Fort Apache? Should be a no brainer for you."

"I know where it is," Sara cut him off with a smile. "It's a half hour walk from our house. We sometimes rent movies at the Redbox they have there." Sara eyed him knowingly. "You did this deliberately, didn't you?"

Karson smiled and held up his hands. "You caught me," he joked. "Maybe you can go check up on your husband on your way back to the lab," he suggested genially. "Everyone's entitled to a lunch hour."

"I'll probably have this done by 10."

"Then a brunch hour?"

The supervisor and CSI traded smiles and Sara was out the door.

* * *

Karson was returning to his office after passing out assignments to the rest of the team when he saw Nick Stokes walking towards him. He thought they might pass by each other but Nick stopped, prompting Karson to do the same.

"I was hoping to find you. Have a minute?" Nick asked, glancing over his shoulder and down the hallway.

"Yeah," Karson said. "What's up?"

"Kind of a private matter," Nick said.

"No one's in the break room and I could use coffee…"

"Yeah, OK."

Once in the break room, Karson grabbed his coffee mug and filled it. It was easy to see that Nick was eager to talk. "What's on your mind, Nick?"

"I'm worried about Sara," Nick said in a rush.

"Ah," Karson said sitting down. "The black eye?"

"You saw it?"

"I did," Karson replied taking a sip of his coffee.

"She told me, that she was hit by one of Dan's toys, but I know that's total BS."

"Well, I did talk to Sara about it," Karson stated matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, well, I hope you didn't buy any line of crap she was trying to sell you," Nick said.

"Nick, what are you talking about?"

"It's rare, but when Grissom gets angry or loses his temper, you best find some cover, and quick." Nick bit his lip, his dark eyes betraying his concern for his friend. "You know, a few days before Jake died, Grissom had a bad run-in with Jake. He got so angry, I had this honest-to-God fear Grissom might take out his rage on Sara."

"Did you tell her your concern?"

"Yeah, and she laughed it off like I was nuts," Nick said. "Look, Grissom… he's one of the smartest men I've ever met, and I always thought he was Mr. Calm and Cool, but I saw Grissom take a swing at Jake. And I have seen him full of rage. That day Sara told me Grissom wouldn't dare hit her. But today she shows up with a black eye and she lies about it."

Karson leaned his elbows on the table. The words Sara had said to him played in his mind — how people she thought loved Grissom believed he could become violent enough to kill Jake. And here was one of those people thinking Grissom had abused Sara.

"Like I said Nick, I talked to Sara specifically about her black eye," Karson stated, leaning his elbows on the table. "It's true Grissom is responsible for the shiner, and Sara said it was a one-time thing that would never happen again."

"That son-of-a-bitch…" Nick started. "And she's covering for that bastard!"

"Now, wait a minute and hold up," the supervisor insisted in response to Nick's flash of anger. "Before you jump to conclusions and assume that you know the whole situation, you want to know what happened?"

"Does it matter?"

"I think so," Karson said. "It seems that since his attack, Grissom's been suffering from PTSD, and part of that means having terrible nightmares. That's what happened last night. Before Sara could stop it, he had lashed out and hit her. He had no idea he even struck Sara until he saw her eye this morning. She said he was filled with remorse even though she tried to reassure him it was accident..."

"And you believe her?" Nick interjected.

"Yes, actually, I do," Karson was firm on the matter. "You've seen the crime scene photos, Nick. You saw the video. Is it really so surprising he'd be experiencing night terrors?"

"No, I mean… yeah, it makes sense but… if that was the case… why didn't she just say that to me?"

Karson looked at Nick critically. He didn't have to answer that question because Nick was slowly coming to the realization Sara didn't share that with him because she didn't trust how he'd react.

And seeing the way he was talking to Karson, could Nick really blame her?

"Like I said, I trust what Sara told me," Karson finally said.

"Yeah, but what if he does this to her again?"

"I'll keep a discreet eye on Sara, and make sure she's OK. I think she trusts my discretion enough to come to me if there is a problem. She's already looking to get her husband some counseling. And right now, I think Grissom could use support, not judgments," Karson said as he stood to leave. "And if you want to mend bridges with Sara, you might want to exhibit that same philosophy with her."

* * *

Sara glanced quickly at her watch as she loaded her kit and the bags of evidence into the back of the SUV. 10:15. She was fifteen minutes off.

Since she was close to home, she took Karson's suggestion to visit Grissom and make sure he was OK. Hopefully by now, he would have had time to cool down and think things over. She was tempted to call him, but then thought better of it. She'd keep it a surprise. She could even pick up a bite to eat on the way. Her stomach growled, and she chuckled quietly to herself. _Guess that's decided then,_ she thought to herself.

Because of its proximity to her crime scene, Sara opted for the Jamba Juice bar located on West Sahara Avenue.

Around twenty minutes later, she was parking up in front of their house. Grabbing the brown paper bags containing two three-cheese sandwiches and two apple cinnamon pretzels, she balanced the smoothies — mango for her and strawberry for Gil — on the hood of the SUV while she locked up. She stuffed her purse under her arm, and carried her goodies into the house.

The first thing that struck her was the eerie silence of the house as she entered. Panic swelled briefly in her chest before she figured that it was possible that Gil was napping upstairs. She headed towards the kitchen and put the food aside.

It was then the silence was broken. She thought she heard a soft calling of her name. Thinking it was coming from upstairs, she made her way to the staircase.

She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight that greeted her, and her blood ran cold. Grissom's body was strewn at the bottom of the staircase. He left leg was painfully twisted, bent, misshapen and lodged in between two banister pillars.

She rushed forward, shouting her husband's name.


	47. Chapter 47

_A/N: Kudos to Jellybean for the awesome beta on this chapter._

* * *

CHAPTER 46

"Jesus, Gil! What happened?!" Sara was horrified at the sight before her. Grissom's face was pale white and his shirt was drenched in sweat. Thankfully he was breathing, but he was exhausted and in terrible pain. There were smears of blood on the stairs, and she feared he cracked open his skull. Fortunately, an examination of his head quickly allayed that fear. Scrapes along his arms and legs had opened up during the fall.

"F-fell," he gasped in a halting breath. "My… my leg."

Grissom's left knee looked sickly as it was swollen four times bigger than normal. "When did you fall?"

"Right… after… you left."

"Oh God, that almost four hours ago," Sara said nervously. "I need to move you, hon. Get you in a better position. Can you try to lift your body up on your forearms?"

He did his arms shaking as he bit his lip. As gently as she could she lifted his leg out of between the columns. Despite his best efforts he cried out in agony but worked with her to free his leg. Once free, Sara went on the floor and helped maneuver him in a position where he was seated on the floor.

His body shook uncontrollably. His eyes were clouded, and red rimmed. Now and then, they rolled obscenely, showing white, as he fought to keep from passing out. "I'm … sorry. … I'll … get up…"

"No," Sara said putting a hand on his chest. "That's too dangerous. You might fall again on the way to the car. And there's no way I could catch you or carry you the rest of the way." She took out her cellphone and dialed 911. "Yes, I need an ambulance."

After giving out the information, she hung up the phone and sat with Grissom.

"Were you running down the stairs?"

Grissom sat with his eyes screwed shut nodded his head.

"Why the hell would you do that, Gil?"

"For… for… giveness."

She shifted until she could guide his head to rest on her shoulder comfortably. She whispered soothing words of encouragement, as they waited for the ambulance together.

* * *

Four hours never felt so long and tiring for Sara, emotionally and physically. Thankfully the ER had not been too busy when they arrived with the ambulance.

Sara looked at Grissom as he lay in his hospital bed with his eyes closed. She knew that was his go-to tactic of avoiding a conversation he didn't want to have. A sigh of frustration escaped her lips and she shook her head slightly as she reconsidered the last few hours. Once he'd been made comfortable and given strong painkillers, the doctor had relocated his dislocated knee. Fluid had reformed around the joint again, and had been drained, before being immobilized.

An x-ray had shown no broken bones, thankfully, but an MRI had shown the previous ligament damage had worsened, and he'd need surgery for knee replacement once the worst of the swelling had gone down. Grissom had taken the news hard. He foolishly forgot his own limitations and ran down the stairs like a lunatic. Now, along with surgery he would need to stay in rehab.

Throughout the whole examination with the doctor he'd been withdrawn and tense. The situation had not been helped further when members of the nursing staff was caught taking glances at Sara's black eye. Grissom could easily guess what they were thinking, and it shamed him more.

"You really don't have to stay," Grissom said, his eyes still closed and his voice low, as the heavy silence was finally broken. "It's not like I can go anywhere, even if I wanted to."

"If I didn't know any better, I would say you were trying to get rid of me," Sara joked, hoping to ease the heavy tension that hung between them. "Your mother's picking up Daniel at daycare soon, and last time I checked in with Karson, things were fine at the lab."

Grissom's brow furrowed, and he uttered a sigh of frustration. "You need to go home, Sara. I want you to go home."

Sara's lips thinned slightly. "I'm staying, Gil," Sara said firmly, but calmly. "After the surgery, you'll be heading to rehab. I want to spend what time I have, with my husband. Once you're settled at rehab, I can bring Daniel with me. It was hard for him being separated from you. For the both of us."

Grissom closed his eyes and shook his head, his hands turning to fists by his side. He swallowed heavily. He opened his eyes, but refused to make eye contact.

"Maybe separation from me is the best thing for this family."

"No," Sara's voice rose slightly. "You're not doing this again, Gil!" she insisted forcefully. "I can understand, even forgive, why you blocked visits from prison, but this situation is nothing like that."

"It's for the best..."

"For whom?"

Grissom stared at his hands now clasped tightly in his lap, thinking of how much he had failed her.

"I'm trying to protect you and Daniel and the baby, Sara. Look what happened to you when you were pregnant with Daniel. Because of me, you both could have died."

"No, that's not true, honey," Sara said. "Mike Garrett did that. Rory Dunbar did that. You did nothing, except help save us."

"I'm a failure to all of you and I'm… I'm a danger," he said quietly, a deep sadness colored his voice and penetrated deep into his bones.

"I don't need protecting, Gil, least of all from you," Sara said pointing to her eye. "This was an accident. That's all it was. You need to recognize that."

He turned to face her, his eyes flashing with something she couldn't identify, and for just a brief moment, she was actually afraid of him – a feeling that she thought she would never have associated with him. The moment passed as quickly as it had come.

"All I recognize is how much pain I've caused you and Daniel! I don't trust I am the man I need to be anymore!" his voice cracked slightly, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He turned his head away from her, as he felt the sting of guilty tears in his eyes. "This is for the best. You'll come to understand that. Then you can…"

 _You can move on, find someone more deserving than me._ Although those words filled his head, they were too painful to pass through his lips.

Sara stared at him in shocked silence. She could only imagine how the words he heard suffering from Rory's abuse replayed in his mind over and over again as he laid at the base of their stairs for four grueling hours. The demons Rory Dunbar supplanted along with his own pain and defeat were telling Grissom to give up.

But it couldn't end like this. They had come too far, endured too much, for her to give up. She had too much fight left in her.

She held so much fury for Rory for what he had done to her gentle, caring and incredible husband. But that fury was moot because Rory was dead. Now Sara needed to remain level headed – meeting anger with anger would only serve to escalate the situation further. They would run the risk of saying something they'd regret.

Sara took a calming breath. "You are my family. You are the first family I've cherished. I'm ready to fight for my family, and fight extra hard because I know you can't fight as hard as you can or want. And as I know you want to, Gil. I know that desire is deep down inside of you. But until you find that strength again, I will fight hard enough for the both of us. Because this family is too important for us to give up."

The hunger and nausea she'd been trying to ignore for the last fifteen minutes renewed its efforts to gain her attention. She reached into her purse on top of his tray table and got her wallet. "I need to get something to eat and we both need to calm down and take a minute to think before we make any rash decisions. I'm going for a walk, but I intend to come back, Gil. When I do, maybe we can talk this through."

She waited a beat, hoping that he would turn and face her. When he didn't, she rose to her feet with a sigh and quietly left his room.

It wasn't until she was gone that he risked turning his head. He bit down on the side of his cheek hard. She didn't understand that even now he was desperately trying not to hurt her. He loved her with all his heart but he would never want to hurt her, even if it broke his own heart. He found it ironic that he'd once thought she would be the one to leave him – not the other way around.

Biting back a sob and upset with himself and the way he'd handled the situation he banged the tray table in front of his bed. The force of the blow knocked Sara's open purse to the floor, much of its contents spilling onto the floor. As he looked down at the items, his dismay and despair morphed into something else. He frowned in concentration at one of the items and pawed at the buzzer so he could alert a nurse.

* * *

Holding a cheese sandwich that didn't look nearly as tasty as the one she bought from Jamba Juice, Sara reentered Grissom's room. She was greeted by sobs from her husband. Grissom was a mess. Yes, she had seen him cry, but not like this. It was the desperate, heart-wrenching sounds of someone in deep emotional pain.

Tears streaked his cheeks, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably, as he stared at something in his hand, and Sara's heart thumped painfully in her chest, at the sight before her.

"Gil," she breathed his name, and when he looked up her heart broke even more. It was the look of one who believed he'd lost everything in the world.

The fact that he had hit her was bad enough. Knowing that she is pregnant only added to his guilt and shame. He didn't deserve her forgiveness; he certainly didn't deserve her. "Our baby. What if I struck you in the stomach, Sara?"

Sara immediately closed the distance between them. She perched on the right side of the bed, and placed her hands on his trembling ones.

"Babe, listen to me," she urged. "I know you feel awful about having hit me, but I know it was an accident sweetheart. You'd just had a terrifying nightmare, honey, and you didn't mean to lash out as you did. You've said you're sorry and, while I don't think you need to apologize, I forgive you, honey."

"I... I don't... deserve... your forgiveness...no matter what. I'm...n-no bet-better...than your father. I... I hurt you... I could have hurt our baby… I yelled at Daniel...I don't know who I am anymore!"

Sara moved her hands to frame his stubbly face in her hands, gently turning his head to face her, though his eyes remained locked on the sonogram.

"Listen to me, Gilbert Grissom," her voice strong and determined. "I know exactly who you are. You're the most incredible, caring and considerate man I know. A man that I'm proud to call my husband and the father of our children."

He shook his head in the negative, but Sara would not let it pass. "Don't shake your head 'no.' No matter what voices, what demons in your head tell you otherwise, you cannot listen to them. You listen to me. You are a good man, and you are nothing, absolutely _nothing_ , like my father."

Grissom chanced a glance at her, seeking out and holding her gaze. Seeing nothing but understanding and compassion on her face, he closed his eyes briefly.

There was determination in his gaze when he opened his eyes again. But he needed to voice one more thing before he would allow himself to accept her forgiveness.

"I want you to promise me, Sara, that if there is ever a time — no matter how brief — that you think I might hurt you or I frighten you… You have to promise me you'll leave and take the kids with you."

"Gil, no." Sara shook her head in protest, but Grissom cut her off.

"Promise me, Sara," he quietly insisted. "I… I don't deserve any second chances. Not with that."

Searching his face, Sara could see how badly he needed to hear it. She caressed his stubbled cheek, in a soothing gesture, her gaze firmly on his. She nodded. "I promise, babe. But I also know it will never come to that. I trust you. I trust the man you are."

Knowing her as he did, Grissom understood that this would be all she would concede. He'd never be able to convince her differently. Whatever he'd done to deserve this amazing woman was a mystery to him. But he would cherish every moment of his life with her.

"Now, I need you to promise me something," Sara said.

"What?" he asked meekly.

She squirmed on the edge of the bed. "I've been doing a lot of research about PTSD and I've talked with some people. You need help, hon. Professional help. I need you to promise me that after rehab you'll get the help you need. No excuses. Understand?"

Grissom nodded his head. "I understand. I do, honey. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She cupped his cheek again with her hand. "No more apologies, OK? You've done nothing wrong in the last two months… except insult my code-talking abilities."

In the midst of his tears, he laughed, which melted Sara's heart. Pursing his lips, his eyes left her face so he could glance down at the sonogram he still held in his hand. "I still can't believe this is happening."

"I know. Sometimes I can't believe it either," Sara said. "But you're OK with it, right?"

"Yes, after all, we were trying."

"Yeah we were," Sara agreed. "And it worked."

"But our timing..."

"Our timing was good," Sara cut him off. "All that other stuff should never of happened. We'll manage, Gil. Yes, it will take some time, but you will heal."

He bit his bottom lip as the scan continued to hold his attention. "You made that mention of saving your Family Medical Leave and all those damn smoothies. You think I would have guessed by now. Some kind of husband I am."

"You've had a lot on your plate, Gil," Sara said forlornly.

His lips pursed slightly, as a more pressing concern crossed his mind. "Have you told anyone at work? You've had so much to cope with…"

"I talked to Karson about it, and he agreed to keep it quiet. I wanted you to be the first to know, but I didn't know what was going to happen."

Grissom stretched out his hand, his thumb gently caressing the fabric of her blouse over her stomach. "I'm glad you told him. If I'd been around…"

Sara placed her hand over his, squeezing gently. "Let's not go over that again, Gil. Just concentrate on the future."

He nodded, still caressing her stomach. "I never asked when."

"Beginning of January. I'm around 11 weeks now," Sara said with a grin.

A slow smile wandered over Grissom's face as he did the math and recalled their reunion after three weeks apart. "A beautiful souvenir from L.A."

"Or it could have been when we came back home," Sara said. "We made up for three weeks of lost time."

"Yeah, we did," Grissom said. "Thank you, Sara."

"Hey, making this baby was a two-person operation," she said. "I should be thanking you."

Grissom smiled. "I don't just mean about that. I mean … for everything. You're such a strong person. You've been fighting for this family from the very beginning. I need to work harder. I need to be stronger. I love you with all my heart Sara, and I promise I will fight as hard as you."

With tears streaming down her face, Sara brought Grissom's hands to her mouth and place a chaste kiss upon them. "You're already a fighter. And I love you."

After she released his hands, Sara leaned in and kissed him reverently on the lips. As she pulled back, she gauged the exhaustion in his eyes. "Close you eyes, honey. Rest. I'll be here when you wake."

With peace and happiness in his heart, Grissom closed his weary eyes. Before succumbing to slumber a single thought enveloped his mind —making Sara feel as loved and cherished as she made him feel.


	48. Chapter 48

_A/N: The magic of this chapter falls solely on co-writer JellybeanChiChi, and an amazing job she did, too!_

* * *

CHAPTER 47

Although Sara had left the hospital two hours prior, Grissom couldn't keep his mind off of her. She came after her shift and wanted to stay longer, but Grissom convinced her since she would arrive extra early the next morning for his surgery, she should go home and rest now.

After all, she wasn't just looking after herself anymore. The Grissom family would welcome the new year with a new baby. And what didn't seem possible even a few days ago, it seemed like Grissom would be able to witness the event as a free man.

As fortunate as he felt, he couldn't avoid the feelings of shame and disappointment in himself. There was Sara pregnant, taking care of Daniel alone while he was in a hospital bed getting catered by nurses and doctors. He was such a fool to run down those stairs. Grissom hated his newfound out-of-control nature. He didn't care how that nature caused him pain, but he despised how his faults have caused Sara distress and harm.

At the very least, he should be at home helping with Daniel. But now? He was an out of work husband and father who just did a stint in jail and was laid up in the hospital and soon in a rehab. And why? Because he let his emotions get out of control with his wife's ex-lover, which opened the door for a mad man to ruin his life.

Not to mention it caused a 35-year-old man to lose his life. Grissom knew Jake Sullivan was not a kind man. He berated Grissom and Jake sought Sara as a possession that was rightfully his.

But that didn't mean Grissom wanted Jake dead. He simply wanted him gone. Yet, in the back of his mind, Grissom wondered if Jake's family blamed Grissom for the younger man's death, in the same vein as Tyler Darrow's family.

He never wanted Tyler Darrow to die. And for the first time in more than two decades, Grissom mourned never seeking forgiveness from Darrow's family for the unintentional part he played in Darrow's death.

As those words floated in his head, he thought of Sara again. She wanted him to go into counseling, treatment for his mental health. He wondered if it would even work. He had so much more important things to pursue to get the family stable — like finding a job with his now-tarnished reputation.

But if that's what she wanted, he would do it. He had to work for her because she deserves more than him.

A knock on his open door broke him out of his thoughts. Grissom looked up to see a visitor and glanced at the clock. "I thought visiting hours were over?"

"Sometimes having a badge has its perks."

Jim Brass stood in the doorway with his rumpled suit jacket slung over his shoulder. Grissom could just see his rolled-up tie sticking out of the pocket. "Mind if I come in?"

"No… I don't mind," Grissom said softly.

Jim walked in slowly and grabbed the chair near Grissom's bed. He hung his jacket on the back of the chair before taking a seat. "So. How are you?"

Grissom shrugged his head. "I have surgery tomorrow."

"Knee, right?"

"Yes."

"I'm surprised they didn't operate on it the first time around."

"If I hadn't fucked up some more there wouldn't be a second time around."

"Come on, Gil. Don't you think you should cut yourself some slack?"

"I'm not sure anymore, Jim." The two sat in silence unsure what to say. "How...ah… Everything OK with you?"

Jim laughed out loud. "Still working too much, drinking too much. Had to make a claim with my insurance company for a tree that fell on my shed. But it's not like I can complain about my life to you."

Grissom's face twisted with irritation. "I was just asking as a friend."

"Yeah, I know." Jim stood up and paced until he stood at the foot of Grissom's bed. "You're being a helluva better friend to me right now than I have been to you the last few months. When all that shit went down I never bothered to try and get in touch with you or visit."

"I didn't want any visitors in prison," Grissom interrupted.

"Doesn't matter if I never tried," Jim said as he tapped his hand on the foot rail. "I tried to keep up with the case. Bowden shared details when he could. But I feel like a shit. I feel like I left you hanging by yourself and, I tried to keep tabs on Sara, but with our different schedules… I didn't even know she was suspended until a few days ago."

Grissom listened critically but didn't say anything. Knowing the man he was, Jim gave his friend the time he needed. He returned to the chair and sat back down. "Gil, don't think my not being around was because I believed any of the bullshit."

Grissom took a deep breath. "I appreciate that, Jim. I do wish you were around for Sara. Kills me that she was dealing with everything without support."

"But she had the rest of the team."

"No," Grissom said gravely. "She didn't."

Jim rubbed his hands on his thighs. "I didn't know that."

They fell into silence again until Brass saw the sonogram on Grissom's tray table. "Hey, is that what I think it is?"

For the first time since he arrived, Jim saw a smile spread across his friend's face. Because he missed being there for the sonogram, Grissom begged Sara to let him keep the photo with him while in the hospital and rehab.

He looked lovingly at the photo before passing it to Jim. "It is. We're expecting."

"Another kid?" Brass said incredulously. "Is this one's nickname gonna be 'whoops?'"

"Absolutely not," Grissom said. "We were trying. We didn't want Daniel to be an only child and when we considered or ages, Sara and I agreed not to wait too long."

"Well, in that case congratulations," Brass said standing up to put the photo back on Grissom's tray table. "Hoping for a girl this time?"

"I haven't even thought of that," Grissom said. "After everything that's happened, I'm grateful I have the freedom to see this sonogram. I'm just looking forward to being able to witness the pregnancy and see the birth."

There was an unspoken reason Brass didn't even consider seeing Grissom while he was in prison or even when he was just out. He would never admit it out loud, but Brass couldn't bear seeing his friend behind bars or lying in a hospital bed after having the shit beat outta him. It was bad enough seeing his friend lay up, pale, about 20 pounds lighter and with remnants of his attacks still visible.

"You know, Gil," Brass started, having to pause to collect what he wanted to say, "I was worried about you. About whether you'd make it through. And here you are, on the other side. You made it through."

"Barely," Grissom said. "I'm not sure I could have lasted longer and if I had to go back again…"

"But you don't," Brass said. "You made it through, buddy. Don't lose sight of that."

Grissom offered an introspective look that slowly drifted from meeting Brass' eyes to another part of the room. Brass couldn't guess what Grissom might have been thinking, but he had hoped his words of encouragement might filter in his friend's subconscious.

Out of the corner of his eye, Grissom saw Brass reaching for his coat. "You're leaving?"

"Yeah, before they kick me out," he said with a smile. "You gonna be OK tomorrow?"

"No worse than I am now, I suppose."

"That's the spirit," Jim said placing a hand on Grissom's shoulder. "Listen, I might not have been around for you the last few weeks, but if you need something while you're in rehab, give me a call."

"I don't think Sara would appreciate if I were to try and escape rehab."

"Hey, I'd tell you 'no' anyways. You think I want to incur the wrath of Sara Sidle?" Brass said. "No, I mean if you need a burger because the food is shit or you need me to pick up something from the store, don't hesitate, OK?"

 _Shopping?_ Grissom said to himself. He thought about the offer and smiled at Brass. "I might take you up on that, Jim."

"Good. You should," Brass said, putting his jacket on. "Take care, buddy."

* * *

"Can you pass me my baseball glove?"

"Your what?"

"My baseball glove."

"Why do you need your baseball glove?"

"To play baseball with Daniel. He's waiting for me in the car."

"Oh really? In his car seat?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Grissom said staring straight at his wife. "He's driving."

"Oh, I see," Sara said. "So where exactly is your baseball glove?"

"Right there."

"Right where?"

"On my desk."

"I'm not seeing it. What's it next to?"

"Miss Piggy. You can't miss it."

"I see your Roy Rogers certificate…"

"To the right of that…"

"There's your crossword puzzle. Oops. You're missing a 12-letter word for 'person who travels widely.'"

"Globetrotter," he said without skipping a beat. "Did you find the glove?"

"Yes. See? I put it in front of you."

"Oh, there it is. You found it!"

He seemed genuinely excited, which made Sara smile. "I did find it."

"You look lovely in that dress."

"This old thing," she said as she pressed down her clothes.

"It's gorgeous. I love you in red. I want to take you dancing."

"I would like that, but I thought you were going to play baseball?"

"We can dance here."

"Are you sure? There's no music."

"Really, I can hear music in my head."

"I have no doubt about that, hon," Sara said ruefully, grabbing his hand. "But isn't Daniel waiting for you?"

"No, he came inside, silly. He's behind you with his little brother. I really love those two."

"Me too," she said with a squeeze. "So, his little brother, huh?"

"Yeah," Grissom said as he closed his eyes.

He fell asleep and his breathing mingled with the sounds of his heart monitor. The knee surgery went well, but Grissom had yet to wake up fully from the anesthesia.

Sara laid a kiss upon Grissom's forehead. She truly enjoyed his bizarre, post-surgical conversation. She stood for a moment and looked down at her attire — yoga pants and a peasant shirt, a far cry from any red dress she owned.

She stilled her palm upon her stomach and wondered when she might first feel a flutter of the new baby. Although she knew it was too soon to feel anything, she knew it was never too early for the baby to hear mommy's voice.

"So it seems that daddy thinks you're a boy," she said softly. "And he already loves you as much as I do."

* * *

Two days after surgery, Grissom was transported to the rehab, which he would call home for the next seven days. He was glad he convinced Sara not to wait at the hospital with him for the transport. Although the doctor discharged him at 8:30 a.m., the transport didn't arrive until 2 p.m. Although not a long ride, he was put in his room and then offered the opportunity for a therapy session.

He was tired, but Grissom wanted nothing more than to be as physically healthy as possible for when he returned home, he accepted the opportunity.

And now he was on his bed wondering if he made the right decision. He truly hadn't moved around like that in a long while and doing so with a healing knee didn't make the exercises easier.

"But no pain, no gain," he said as he lay in his bed on top of the covers staring at the ceiling. "What a stupid saying."

His monologue caused his roommate to chuckle. "They'll work you to death, I tell ya, if you aren't careful. They say they're therapists, but I think they're sadists with weights and exercise balls."

Still staring at the ceiling, Grissom lightly chuckled. "But it's all worth it, right?"

"I'll tell you in three days when I break outta here," the older man said.

All the sudden his joke to Jim about escaping rehab didn't seem like a joke anymore. But after a few minutes, he heard a knock on their door, which led Grissom to gingerly sit up in his bed.

It was an attendant who brought Grissom back from his first physical therapy session. "Mr. Grissom. I was checking to see if you needed help getting washed."

Grissom nodded and the man in his late 20s came to the bed to assist in moving to the bathroom. As he did, Grissom had a pressing question. "Do you know the Wi-Fi password for my laptop?"


	49. Chapter 49

_A/N 1: Another chapter that is all co-author Jellybean. An amazing job, again! :D Also check out the 2nd A/N at the end :)_

* * *

CHAPTER 48

Both quiet and darkness enveloped Grissom as he laid in his rehab bed. His roommate slept quietly. The hallways were not bustling, as he would have heard in a hospital room. Being in a rehab bed was definitely a different experience from the tense, constantly noisy environment in prison.

Grissom wished he was lying in his own bed, but at least rehab was quiet. And unlike the hospital, it was a step closer to home.

And it sure as hell wasn't prison.

Yet, he still felt trapped. Trapped by circumstances he had a difficult time believing was not constructed by his own hand. His lawyer might have said it was "flawed logic" for Grissom to believe he was at fault for his imprisonment and arrest, but in the darkness and quiet away from the family who needed him Grissom felt ashamed not to take responsibility for the blame.

But he couldn't afford to focus on the blame when there was so much work to do. When he wasn't in therapy during the day, he was on his laptop researching for job opportunities and writing acquaintances and colleagues for any leads they might give him. Personal email addresses. Professional email addresses. It didn't matter. In the last five days he had already written dozens of emails, but he hadn't received any responses. Yet, he just kept trying because he had no choice. He had to find work.

Not that the lack of response didn't weigh on his mind. As he worked on his exercises his mind would anxiously wander to his vocational predicament. Sometimes he would get so wound up he would press himself harder physically. At least physical pain silenced his anxious thoughts.

With five full days of therapy behind him, Grissom looked forward to going home. Sara and Daniel visited after dinner most nights, which Grissom loved. But he hated how tired Sara looked with each passing day. The past few months had been hell for her and his hospitalization had made things more difficult for her.

As quietly as possible, Grissom sat up in bed and grabbed his laptop. Before he went to check his email, he went to a recently bookmarked site. He smiled as he looked at the picture in the center of his screen. He reached for his cellphone on the nightstand and jotted a quick text.

He went to return his attention to his laptop when his phone binged a text message. "That's the seventh text from you about this. I WILL PICK UP YOUR STUFF AND BRING IT IN THE MORNING. And, yes, for the seventh time I have your credit card. Text me again and I'm buying myself a watch."

Smile on his face courtesy of Brass' reply, Grissom checked his email. Unfortunately, work inquiries were again left unanswered, but there was something else equally disconcerting. There weren't any replies from the city about another pressing matter. Along with being fired after his arrest from his university job, the city froze Grissom's pension benefits. He had hoped the city would reinstate his pension without trouble since he was cleared of wrongdoing.

But it hadn't been the case, and Grissom knew that Sara was checking their bank account five or six times a day. While Grissom did have an emergency account that would keep the family safe, Sara was clearly worried about money. That was an added stressor his wife didn't need.

With calls and emails unanswered by the benefits office, Grissom took a chance and phoned someone higher on the chain of command earlier in the day. Despite the anxiety he felt at the moment, recalling the creative way he had made the phone call returned a slight smile to his face.

"Office of the sheriff. May I help you?"

He recognized the voice of Audrey, Ecklie's receptionist, but didn't try to make small talk with the young woman. "Yes, this is Phil Gruesome. I am returning Sheriff Ecklie's call."

"And may I tell him what this is concerning?" Audrey said with a hint of skepticism.

He had to bite his lip to keep his voice even. "His inquiry about the red Mercedes."

Perhaps it was his emphasis on the last two words that silenced any more inquiries. Anyone who knew Ecklie knew he was a car enthusiast. "One moment please," Audrey said dryly.

A few clicks and Grissom heard an audible sigh as a greeting. After all, both the caller and the call recipient knew "red Mercedes" had nothing to do with cars. "You know there should be a statute of limitations on awkward, drunken incidences. Especially after almost 20 years."

The tale of red Mercedes was one from when both Ecklie and Grissom were CSIs working the same shift. The two had worked an especially difficult case and while Grissom retreated to a poker game, Ecklie retreated to Sleazy Tom's Pub way off the Strip.

The two weren't friends but when Ecklie got too drunk, the bartender asked whom he should call and Ecklie gave him a number from his PDA — Gil Grissom, although that's not the name Ecklie gave the bartender.

"You were the one who gave me my alias," Grissom recalled hearing the bartender ask, "Is this Phil Gruesome?" followed by the request to pick up Ecklie before he gets pummeled by a regular or robbed by a couple of call girls. "I could have left you there. You seemed to have been enjoying Mercedes' company."

Mercedes Bendsover — a fiery redhead with an obvious penchant for wordplay — was one of two ladies who intimately and scathingly had flanked Ecklie when Grissom had arrived to the pub. Despite the embarrassing memory, Ecklie let out a soft chuckle. "I was willing to let you have the other lady… what was her name?"

"Twizzler Snowflake," Grissom recalled without missing a beat.

"She liked you, Gil. You could have started a wonderful life with her."

"I don't regret taking that pass. Although maybe I shouldn't have dragged you out of the bar."

And "dragged" was stated in the literal sense. Because they weren't friends and because Grissom had to prematurely leave a poker game, he was less than patient with his drunken coworker. After a few minutes of trying to use reason, Grissom grabbed Conrad's arm. But he had not been prepared for Ecklie's rough response.

"I apologized for punching you in the stomach and slapping your face years ago," Ecklie said. "Not sure why you are revisiting that memory now."

"I figured Phil Gruesome could get you on the phone easier than Gil Grissom."

"Gil Grissom. Always thinking," Ecklie said. "You home?"

"Rehab. Knee surgery."

"Good luck with that," Ecklie said sincerely. "This about Sidle?"

"Actually," Grissom started, feeling uneasy about the subject, "it's… it's about my pension. It hasn't been reinstated."

Grissom heard the familiar creak of a chair as someone leaned against it. "That can take some time, Gil. You know that."

"I do, and I normally wouldn't be calling you about this but I've received no call backs or email replies from benefits or Human Resources," Grissom said. "I'm at my wits end here, Conrad. It's not just me that needs peace of mind, it's Sara as well. We've been without my salary or pension for more than two months."

"I understand," Ecklie said. "Have you started looking for work? Making contacts?"

"I have. Yes."

"You getting any bites?"

"No."

"Would a letter of recommendation help?"

The unsolicited question surprised Grissom. "It couldn't hurt. Are you offering?"

"I am," Ecklie said. "And I'll try to find info about the pension. No promises but…"

"No. Whatever you do I appreciate it," Grissom said. "Thank you, Conrad."

Before getting off the phone, Grissom gave Ecklie his personal email. He had hoped to hear back from Conrad, but when he saw a reply sent at 11:30 p.m. from the sheriff's personal email address, Grissom was shocked. He had only talked to Ecklie some 12 hours prior and attached to the email was a word document — a glowing letter of recommendation.

While the attachment lifted Grissom's spirits, the text of the email gave him grave pause. A look of concern and concentration marked his face as it was illuminated by the dim light of his laptop.

"Gil. Let's keep this exchange as private as possible. I delved into the issue you asked about and I suggest you talk to your lawyer about this issue and about ways for you to move forward. Politics and pride are tricky and there seems to be something and someone holding up the process. Good luck."

* * *

Her day started with her new normal — bone tired and on the verge of tears. After her alarm would sound, Sara would stay in bed for a moment and wipe stray tears from her eyes.

She would chalk up the experience to hormones. Yet, deep down inside she knew this new normal also stemmed from uncertainty about so much with her life.

But she tampered down her emotions. She had a lot of work to do. Daniel counted on her to be a good, sensible mother. The lab counted on her to be a competent, driven employee. Her husband counted on her to be his rock.

There was little time for sleep, much less tears in Sara's life.

Her days felt long, and today was no different. She got through her morning at home with Daniel, took him to daycare, went to the lab, returned to the daycare, came home to change, she sat for a moment in car with the engine still running. The car felt cool, but for a moment she directed the air vent directly on her neck and chest. Pregnant during the summer months of Nevada was not the most fun experience in her life.

As she opened up her shirt a little bit to get some cold air on her sticky chest, she caught a glimpse of Daniel in the backseat. He looked like a mini-Hulk in his car seat as he got his body stiff as a board willing himself to push the straps and free him from his carseat. He would do it for ten seconds, wait a few moment and then puff out his chest again for another futile effort.

Sara tiredly rolled her eyes and then turned around. "Hey. Bruce Banner. Until you learn the dexterity involved in unsnapping the release button, no amount of pushing is getting you out of the chair."

Daniel stopped, dramatically pouted his lips and then let out a singular "BING." Then he let out a succession of "bing, bing, bing, BING" before trying to push himself out of the straps again.

The bing sound was something new, and Sara wondered if it was something he had heard in daycare. And while he said the word with great conviction, he was still an 11-month-old cutie, one who never ceased to make Sara chuckle.

"OK. OK, I get it. You want out," Sara said. "But I'm only going to strap you into a stroller, because mommy doesn't feeling like holding you all the way to daddy's room."

As Daniel kicked his feet and let out random "ma" and "da" sounds, Sara transferred him from the car seat to a stroller she had taken out of the trunk. Once in the stroller, he was just as adamant about not staying stationery.

"It's all about go, go, go with you," Sara said as she put the diaper bag in the pouch under the stroller and then pushed it toward the entrance. "I wonder where you get that from?"

It was a rhetorical question, and even though Sara talked to Daniel like she would some adults, he most likely didn't understand every nuance of her conversation.

But then again, her son did have an immediate retort to her question.

"Ma!" Daniel said. "Ma. Ma. Ma. Ma. Ma. Ma."

Sure it was probably him babbling, but it still made Sara wonder.

"You might be cute, but you're a smart ass, Danny," Sara said smiling, despite herself. "And I know exactly where that comes from."

Although she was prepared to walk through the halls to Grissom's room, she found her husband waiting for her in the lobby by the reception.

"What are you doing here?" Sara asked worriedly. "Is something wrong? What's the matter?"

"Honey," Grissom said soothingly. "Nothing's wrong. I just was excited to see you two."

He leaned toward her to kiss her cheek before sitting back down on the chair to be at Daniel's eye level. "Hey buddy," Grissom said holding the boy's hand. "Have you been a good boy for mommy?"

"He's been a handful."

Although not spoken with a hint of anger, Grissom recognized the exhaustion in the short statement. He stood back up and rubbed Sara's back. "Did you eat dinner?"

"Yes," Sara said, a little exasperated. "Gil, I texted you and told you I was going to eat at home and feed Daniel before I drove here. Didn't you get it? Have you been waiting here since dinner? Why didn't you eat?"

Despite the anxiety and frustration in his wife's voice, Grissom kept his smile and his voice even. "Sara, honey, I was just making sure you ate. I did get your text and I haven't been waiting here so long."

"Oh."

"Are you feeling OK?"

"I'm just…" She stopped her thought. "Are we going to go to your room? Because I really need to pee and I'm not sure why we are still in reception."

Grissom took the stroller from her hands and pushed it forward. "I'm sorry, hon. Of course. If you need to walk ahead of us, go ahead."

Yes, she needed to pee, but she needed a little space too, so Sara took Grissom's offer and speed walked to his room.

* * *

 _A/N 2 : Message from JellybeanChiChi,_ _concerning Sara "arguing " with Daniel._

 _When my youngest was that age my youngest niece was a teenager spending the night and she remembers being woken up by Carlos who stood in his bed going, "Bing... Bing... Bing... BING!"_

 _My niece shouted "Shut up! I'm trying to sleep!"_

 _Bing bing bing bing_

 _So I was kinda putting him into the story 🙂_


	50. Chapter 50

_A/N: Another amazing chapter from co-writer, JellybeanChChi. An awesome job too! I just LOVE this chapter. Unfortunately it's the last one - just for now - until new chapters come back from Jelly._

* * *

CHAPTER 49

Sara needed the bathroom more than she realized which is probably why she practically sprinted to Grissom's room. _One of the perks of pregnancy,_ she said to herself as she looked at her reflection in the mirror as she washed her hands.

She sighed at the image in front of her. The bags under her eyes were noticeable, as were new lines of worry. She reached up and pulled her hair to the side to see one, two, four, five, seven strands of gray.

"Terrific," she said to her reflection. "Couple that with the stretch marks and a belly that's going to expand, and I will be an absolute beauty queen."

Shaking her head at the absurdity, Sara finally stepped out of the bathroom to find an empty room. Not only was Grissom's roommate gone, but Grissom and Daniel weren't in the room either. It's not like it wouldn't take Grissom that long to push the stroller from the lobby to the room.

Unless he was showing off Daniel to the staff. Grissom was one of the younger people in his area of rehab. Other patients were older or elderly, so staffers enjoyed seeing a baby's face. And Daniel ate up the attention.

Taking advantage of some time alone, Sara took a seat in the recliner near Grissom's bed. She pulled the lever to put the seat in the reclining position. She let out a long breath and closed her eyes.

A less than a minute later, she was asleep.

* * *

It was a combination of a tiny fist banging on her leg and the sensation of something slippery and wet on her arm that caused Sara to awake.

She opened her eyes and saw Daniel standing next to the recliner. He held onto the chair with one hand while he banged his fist on her leg with the other. That's when Sara noticed the item causing the sensation on her arm — a chunk of half eaten cantaloupe.

But before she could remove the fruit, Daniel stopped his banging, used that hand to hang on to the recliner and snatched the melon with the other.

"Where did you get that?" she asked the toddler, who was scooped up by his father before the boy could answer.

"I gave it to him," Grissom said as he sat down in a chair next to the recliner. He had Daniel in his lap and was trying to use a wet wipe to clean the boy's hands. "Sorry about that, but he wanted to wake you up. I held him off as long as possible."

"As long as possible?" Sara asked as she stretched her arms and then reached on to the side as she groped for the recliner lever. "How long was I asleep? Ten minutes?"

"About an hour and a half."

"What?!" The recliner made a loud thud as she got it back in its sitting position. "An hour and a half? Gil, why did you let me sleep that long?!"

"Hon, it's OK. You looked exhausted." Grissom's voice and face held a soft, compassionate quality. He reached over and gave Sara a couple of wipes to clean her hand. "I was happy to see you get some rest."

Sara craned her neck from side the side, then stretched each arm across her chest. She did feel rested and the recliner was surprisingly comfortable. "I still can't believe you didn't wake me up sooner. You should have woke me up."

Grissom stood up with Daniel in his arms and bent over to kiss Sara on the forehead. "We did wake you up."

"Yeah, but not for more than 90 minutes," Sara pouted despite looking more refreshed.

Although he did not offer a retort, Grissom's smile became wider. He left Sara's side to put Daniel down a few feet away on the floor. He seemed to have kept himself busy as Sara slept. He constructed a mini-play area for Daniel using his playmat, toys from his stroller and some stray items that are left in their car. The boy seemed content.

"You didn't just put his blanket directly on the floor, did you?"

"What? And suffer the tongue lashing from the nurses and you?" Grissom replied as she sat back on the chair next to Sara. "They helped me lay down sheets and some towels on the floor first before we put down the blanket. And I had to promise to keep his socks and shoes on."

Although she still held residual irritation for being asleep for so long, Sara couldn't help but reciprocate a smile upon seeing the happiness her husband held. "So…" she said after a moment, "your roommate's not going to mind the obvious baby invasion?"

"He went home this afternoon. I probably will get a roommate sometime tomorrow, but for tonight the place is all mine."

"Well, that's good. So what did you two do for so long while I was wasting time asleep?"

Grissom reached for Sara's hand. "First of all, it is not a waste of time for you to sleep. I'm worried you are working yourself way too hard. …"

"Gil, I'm fine."

"Really? Then why were you dead to the world as soon as you sat down in the recliner?"

"Oh come on, it was a cat nap that went too long…"

"Sara, you were out. You still haven't realized the mustache I drew on your upper lip while you were asleep."

The comment made Sara leave her chair like a shot and head to the bathroom mirror. Fortunately her reflection looked similar to the one she saw before her nap. Although she did notice the bags under her eyes were much better.

The reflection also included a chuckling Grissom as he stood behind her. She turned around to see him standing in front of her with both hands on his cane. For the first time since she arrived she took stock in her husband. While he looked content, he also seemed tired. When he walked Daniel to his play area he did so with a limp. He bent over gingerly to let the boy down first on his feet, so Daniel could plop onto his butt on his own accord.

Judging by the grip Grissom had on his cane Sara wondered if he was in pain right now. Yet, that didn't stop her from turning around and giving him a swat on the chest. "You're such a shit," she said with mirth.

"Ouch," Grissom said playfully.

"You know how dangerous it can be to trick a pregnant woman?" she said as she went around Grissom to get out of the bathroom.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't resist," Grissom said as he limped behind her.

She went and sat on the bed next to Daniel's play area. He immediately crawled over to her and climbed up her leg. "You know I came to visit you, not nap."

"I know, but I figured you could do both, and it gave me and Daniel the prefect opportunity to do something together."

Sara reached down to pick up Daniel. "Oh yeah? What?"

Grissom put up a finger as if to signal "One moment," and limped out of the room as he leaned on his cane. Sara could only see him turn the corner out of the room before he disappeared out of sight. She sighed and looked at her son. "So you two let me sleep so I can't visit. Is it me? Do you two not want to be with me?"

Daniel's only answer was to grab Sara's nose.

A few moments later, Grissom reentered the room looking nervous. "Hey."

"Where'd you go?"

"Just to the … ah… just down a couple of hallways."

"Sit with me."

"I will," he said, staying put.

"Gil, what's going on? Did you want me to go home?"

"What? No."

"OK, you're being weird."

She looked like she was going to stand up so Grissom walked towards her. "I'm sorry. It's just… I got you something and it didn't turn out exactly as I hoped."

"Got me something? Like from the facility?"

"No, it's not like I thought you'd want a bed pan or something."

While Grissom nervously laughed at his own joke, Sara gave him a perplexed look that he knew was bordering on losing her patience. "I … well Daniel and I… but mostly me… or I made you something."

Knowing the clientele in the facility was mostly elderly, Sara had a ridiculous image of Grissom in an arts and craft class. "Oh, it is macrame trivet or a macaroni necklace?"

"Neither. You remember that fruit … whatever… you got at the office?"

"The Edible Arrangement?" Sara replied. "Yeah. What about it?"

"Well, I remember how much you said you liked it…"

"Oh no," Sara said, her agitation going up a notch. "Gil, it's sweet of you to get one, but you know how expensive those things are? I mean…. $75 for a few pieces of pineapple and some strawberries? It's not like we can afford that kind of expense..."

"I totally agree and I didn't buy you one," Grissom said before going out the door and immediately coming back into the room pushing a cart in front of him.

Her face changed and she took Daniel off her lap. He gladly left her arms to stand as he held the bed rail that was at his level. Sara took steps forward to stand with Grissom. She put her arm around his waist.

On the cart was Grissom's variation of an edible arrangement. With a wide-rimmed bowl as its base, he had fashioned a pineapple as the base with green-colored sticks spearing a variety of carved fruits as flowers surrounding it. There were a couple of dozen honeydew, cantaloupe and pineapple daisies with strawberry, blueberry and raspberry centers. There was also a half dozen full strawberries half covered with chocolate in the display as well.

"You made this for me?"

"Yeah, I know it's not quite as nice as a professional one," Grissom said, as he looked at the display skeptically. "I should have done a better job rounding off the petals."

Sara let out a long breath and leaned into Grissom. "It's great, Gil. Looks beautiful and delicious."

"Really? You like it?"

"Of course I do," she said, swiping at her eyes and working as best as she could to control her emotions. She took off a chocolate covered strawberry, enjoying her first bite. "This must have took you forever. Did you make it in the room?"

"No, in the kitchen," Grissom said. "I told the attendants a couple of days ago what I was wanting to do, and they said I could use the kitchen. Jim bought the produce for me and brought it this morning. There probably would have been more cantaloupe flowers if it wasn't for Danny. He's a melon fiend, apparently."

Sara plucked a raspberry and blueberry from a "flower." "It's like you have a run of this place," she said. "Like it's your home."

"No, honey. You're my home," Grissom said in soft and low voice. "And I can't wait to get back there."

Again, Sara had to hold in her emotions. If she bathed in his statement, she would lose it for sure, so instead she took off a piece of cantaloupe and waved to get Daniel's attention. "Hey Danny? Look what mommy has." She said in a loving, teasing voice. "I got melon, ha ha ha."

Grissom gave her a smiling incredulous look. "Are you trying to provoke a toddler?"

"Trust me, he provokes me plenty, don't you Dan?" Sara said, garnering a big smile from her son. "See? Don't worry I'll share with him."

But before she could take off a piece of melon and walk it over to Daniel, he took matters in his own hands.

Or in this case, his own two feet.

Catching mom and dad off guard, Daniel took his hands off the railing and took one step towards them. He didn't stumble, so he took another and another and before long he was standing at the cart reaching his arms up for a treat.

Mouths agape, it was Grissom who first broke the silence. "Did you know he was going to do that?"

"No," Sara said as she reached down and brought Daniel in her arms. "He always crawls around the house." She turned him to face Grissom. "I think that deserves a treat, don't you daddy?"

Grissom placed his hands on his son's cheeks and kissed him lovingly on his forehead. He then grabbed a piece of melon and handed it to Daniel, who giggled his thanks and moved his feet quickly while in his mother's arms.

"Take him for a second," Sara said before handing Grissom his son. "I have a bowl of Cheerios. We can put some fruit in it and put him down. It will keep him occupied."

Grissom sat down with Daniel continually kissing him and nuzzling him. The boy didn't mind the attention from his father, even offered to share his now slimy cantaloupe, which Grissom graciously declined.

When he saw that Sara had Daniel's snack ready on his blanket, Grissom said, "Stay there. Let's see if he'll do it again."

Although he held a look of determination and concentration, the grin on Daniel's face emanated from a combination of accomplishing walking and hearing his mother and father cheer him on. He plopped down on his blanket and grabbed his dish of goodies to the sound of mommy and daddy clapping. After getting his hair rustled by his mother, Sara left his side to return to her gift. She turned it around to see Grissom's handiwork.

"So, I did an OK job?"

"You did a great job," Sara said, as she gave him a soft smile and returned her gaze to Daniel. "I can't believe he took his first steps."

"I know," Grissom said, observing his son with the same look. "It's amazing, isn't it?"

Before Sara could answer she heard her cellphone buzz. She stood to retrieve the phone from her back pocket and saw a message came through. Grissom watched as Sara's face immediately transformed as she looked at her phone. She suddenly looked as exhausted and frustrated as she did when she arrived.

"Is everything OK?"

"Huh?" Sara said, looking a little lost.

"Did you get a bad message?"

"Oh." Sara said, her face twisting in a sad way. "I … it's one of my coworkers…"

Her voice faded out, and she went to the arrangement and grabbed a couple of things off of it. She popped them quickly in her mouth and chewed while talking. "I ...asked… oneting." She mumbled as she finished what was in her mouth before picking off a few more pieces of fruits. Then she suddenly stopped. "Oh… oh no!"

"Sara? What did the text say? Is everything OK?"

"I can't believe how stupid I am!" She waved her phone in front of Grissom. "Our son… our firstborn … just took his first steps, and I didn't even bother to record it or take a photo! I had the damn phone in my pocket!"

"Sara, there's plenty of time to take photos of him walking now. It's OK…"

"No! It's not! I suck as a mom!" She punctuated her point by slamming the phone on the cart and angrily taking out two spears of fruit before plopping down on the recliner.

Grissom got off his seat and pulled it in front of the recliner. "Sweetheart, don't say that. You're a fantastic mom." He reached over and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "What did the text say? Please tell me what happened?"

She looked him in the eyes and saw the love he had and her emotions and tears spilled over. And over and over as she held onto the spears of fruit.

While worried about her emotionally, Grissom thought before he could comfort his wife, it might be best to take the sharpened, wooden sticks from her hands. As he tried to gently take them away, she pulled her hands back.

"No!"

"It's OK, honey. I was just going to put them aside for a moment…"

"Don't take them. They're… they're part of the nicest thing anyone's done for me for so long… It's been so tough lately, Gil. I… I feel like I … that we… can't catch a break. And I'm tired… I'm so tired… and I know I shouldn't be complaining, but … God, it's tough, you know?... All I asked that coworker of mine was to cover the shift for one hour at the end of the shift tomorrow. One lousy hour! … I just wanted to get a few things before you came home the next day… And she couldn't do it. …"

"Honey, I'm sorry…"

"It's not your fault," Sara said, tears freely flowing down her cheeks. "I've tried everything I can to get on people's good sides, but… nothing is working. I mean… yes, Karson's been nice and Kahlil is kind… But everyone else? …"

Grissom's heart ached for her. She might say it wasn't his fault but he still felt like it was. He wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms… except those damn wooden sticks.

Despite thinking he wasn't doing enough for her, he listened and let Sara vent, which was exactly what she needed. "You know what I really want? I mean… I really want you to come home because… I miss you, Gil. I miss you being around and teasing me and looking at me and complaining about me stealing the covers. … And I know it's only two more days, but all I want to do right now is sit here and eat that entire arrangement… but if I do that then I'll have nothing to take home and I won't have the nicest gift I've gotten in a long time…"

It was when she went to wipe the tears from her cheek that Sara remembered the death grip she had on the sticks. But instead of putting one down, she simply transferred them to the same hand.

As she did that, she heard Grissom pull his chair away. He stood up, retrieved the rolling tray table. He placed the arrangement on it and wheeled it so it was on the left-hand side of the recliner so that the table was perched in front of Sara. "Enjoy it. The whole thing."

"But…"

He plucked off a chocolate-covered strawberry and offered it to her. ""I'll make you another one at home. I promise."

She took the strawberry with a sigh. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," he said. "Now close your eyes."

"Come on, Gil. I don't want to sleep…" The tired agitation returned to her voice.

"I wasn't going to ask you to nap. Just humor me."

She complied with his request and a moment later she complied again when he asked her to open her eyes.

In front of the arrangement Grissom placed an open, rectangular box. Inside was a delicate silver chain with a pendant — a six petal flower of sterling silver and rose-colored gold.

"I had intended to give it to you as a 'welcome home' gift," Grissom said. "But this way you are sure to take something home with you that reminds you how much you are cherished and loved."

Sara's eyes misted. She pushed the tray table to the side, so it was no longer in front of her. She reached over and put the necklace in the palm of her hand, but she still said nothing.

Her reaction made Grissom a little nervous. "I know what you're thinking, and it wasn't extravagant. I didn't spend a fortune, but, honestly honey, I almost wish I did because you deserve extravagance, and if you don't like it…"

"Gil," Sara said softly. She wrapped the chain around her neck and clasped it. Palming the pendant that laid on her bosom, she gave the chain a gentle tug to ensure it was clasped and then pressed the pendant against her heart.

The two stayed silent for a moment until Sara stood up, wrapped her arms around Grissom's neck and kissed him soundly.

They pulled apart and Sara placed her head on his shoulder.

"So does that mean you like the necklace?"

Sara pulled her head up and smiled. "That was just the thank you for the fruit arrangement." She sensually let her hands roam down his back and caressed his backside before returning her hands up until they settled on his shoulders. "And this is a thank you for the necklace."

The kiss ignited passion that both of them had left burning as embers in their souls. Engaged in the moment, they would break for mere seconds for breath before their lips crashed together once more. Their hands roamed and Grissom began to take steps pushing Sara to his bed. Lost in the sensations of her husband's hands brushing up her blouse and the pads of his fingertips burning a trail on her bare skin, it wasn't until the back of her knees hit the bed that Sara pushed Grissom away.

"Honey," she said almost breathless. "Your knee…"

"Forget the knee, Sara." His eyes held the feral look she had seen so many times before.

Normally, Sara would have pounced and despite the desire, she took a deep breath and stood firm.

"You had knee surgery five days ago. This is a rehab bed. And Daniel's on the floor over there and if he's finished his fruit, chances are he will head for the fruit arrangement."

"Sara, please…" But any argument Grissom had died on his lips and in his loins as he looked over toward Daniel's play area and didn't see him there. "Oh God…"

Seeing the nervous look on Grissom's face, Sara instinctively knew Daniel wasn't where he should be but instead of freaking out or even taking a moment to turn toward the play area, she quickly looked towards the door. "Daniel," she said in a kind but stern voice. "Where are you going?"

"BING!"

Sara patted Grissom's chest. "He's by the door. Excuse me for a second." She approached Daniel and held out her hand. "Don't bing me. Come on. Let's go."

Daniel took his mother's hand and walked the short distance with her to greet his father. "BING! BING! Bing, bing, bing, bing."

Grissom, who at the moment was feeling tired, elated, relieved and a little embarrassed at the same time, shook his head and smiled at the boy. "He just learned how to walk a few minutes ago, saw we were occupied and almost escaped."

"I guess things are going to be different at home for us," Sara said. "But tomorrow I'm getting a bell to put around his neck."


	51. Chapter 51

_A/N: This gem is all due to co-writer JellybeanChiChi, and another awesome job too. We both apologise for the delay. Again, this will be the only chapter - just for now- until the other chapters are ready. Thank you all for your continued support for this story, and of course, your patience._

* * *

CHAPTER 50

It was nearly 8:30 before Grissom packed up everything so Sara and Daniel could head home for the rehab. Sara had noticed that Grissom's enthusiasm had waned after Daniel tried to make his monumental - yet ill-designed - escape from his room.

She chalked his change in demeanor to physical and emotional fatigue. He clearly put in a lot of effort to get her surprises together and that coupled with seeing Daniel's first steps made Sara feel tired.

Tired in the best way positive, but still tired.

Knowing Sara had a bit more items then usual to get to the car, Grissom got an orderly he had befriended and asked about the possibility of using a cart to get the items to the car. Grissom said he could load up the cart, while Sara took herself and Daniel to move the car to the front of the entrance.

The orderly kindly offered the use of the cart and said, "If you trust me, I can move the car for you then help you guys load up."

With a words of thanks, Sara gave the orderly the keys and helped Grissom load up the cart. That allowed for her to push the cart to the front, while Grissom pushed Daniel in the stroller. The family fell into a comfortable silence as they made their way through the halls. Once they made it at the front, Sara noticed Daniel was nodding off. In contrast, Grissom looked as if he was concentrating on something important.

"Is something bothering you?" Sara asked him.

"I… uh…" Grissom stammered before taking a breath. "Sara, I should apologize for what I did earlier. I … I let things get out of hand. I'm sorry I was forcing myself on you… That was… uncalled for… and I'm sorry."

Sara gave him a skeptical look. "You didn't force yourself on me. I was the one who started it."

"But… I was … pushing you in the room… Forcing you…"

"Gil, stop for a second," Sara interrupted. "Look at me." She waited until he made eye contact. "You didn't force yourself on me. We were making out. And if it seemed like I wasn't into it, then I definitely need to reevaluate my kissing skills."

She smiled wide at her own comment, hoping Grissom would do the same. While he shrugged and shook his head as if to disagree, a small smile did crack. "You… you never had to reevalute that, Sara."

Sara place a hand on his arm and rubbed it up and down. "And you shouldn't think you ever force yourself on me. OK?"

"But I…"

"OK?"

Grissom stared at her, still unable to agree with her, but the conversation died as the orderly drove up just outside the automatic doors. As promised, he helped Sara load up the car while Grissom put Daniel in his carseat.

Sara tried to tip the orderly who smiled and said, "My pleasure. Just drive safe."

Standing by her driver's side door, Sara watched as Grissom continued to talk with Daniel and stroke his hair as the boy fought sleep. She loved watching how loving he was with the boy, a contrast of when he first arrived home from prison recovering from his kidnapping.

But there was still this awkwardness that he held with Sara. But she neither blamed him or pitied herself with negative thoughts that he didn't find her attractive or desirable. She knew his post-trauma wreaked havoc with his emotions and moods. Despite the amount of time that had passed since he accidentally struck her in his sleep, he still evaluated his every move and motive with her under the specter of whether he was abusing her.

Having understanding like that made Sara glad she sought out the advice of the counselor she found online. Despite being in Florida and being a nun, the sister knew what she was talking about and had not only let Sara bend her ear once or twice, but four times.

She also offered something else that Sara knew was time to pass along to her husband.

Grissom gave Daniel a final kiss before gently closing the door. He turned around and Sara was right there waiting. He put his hands in the pockets of his loose khaki shorts. "He's practically asleep."

"He's had a big day."

"You think he'll wake up when you get home? Will it be hard for you to get him to bed?"

"I doubt it. We'll be OK," Sara said with a smile. "Will you be OK?"

"Yeah."

"I had a good time today. The best day in a long time. Thank you for everything."

"I'm just glad you like it. You deserve so much more, Sara."

Sara put out her arms. "Come here." Grissom took his hands out of his pockets and embraced his wife. "I deserve you and you deserve me. OK?"

Grissom kissed her neck in response but then drew back, but Sara held him tighter. "What you did for me if just another reason why I love you so much." She gently pushed away from him and then kissed him firmly. She reached into his pocket and then withdrew her hand. "I'm going to try and make it tomorrow but I wanted to get some shopping done…"

"Whatever works best for you. I understand. Besides, I'll be home soon."

"Yeah, you will. But I'll still call you," she said, caressing her cheek before walking to her side of the car.

Grissom followed her and opened the car door for her. After another peck on the lips, Sara got into the car, put on her seatbelt and waved goodbye.

He watched as the car pulled away and put his hands into his pockets. In one of them he felt a small, stiff paper card.

He read the business card Sara placed in his pocket as he made his way back into the facility.

* * *

Sitting in a waiting area, Wilbur Jacobsen tapped his toe on the linoleum floor before turning to the woman next to him and offering a small smile. The woman reciprocated the smile before reaching into her purse and taking out a tube of lipstick and a small mirror.

"I believe that's the fourth time you've applied lipstick since we left the office."

"I know, right?" said Dana Osorio, a petite, professional woman in her early 30s. "This was not a good purchase. I've had generic chap stick that stayed on longer than this stuff."

He watched as she looked skeptically at the mirror image of her lips. "So you should get rid of it."

"If I do, I might as well get the most out of what a paid for," she said dabbing her lips with the makeup stick a few more times. "Besides, I have to look my best since my client meeting is being chaperoned by a law partner."

Jacobsen snickered. "It's not because I discount your abilities."

"I'm sure you realize I am perfectly capable of conducting a client interview on my own," she countered.

"I do," Jacobsen said with professional sincerity. "As I said, it is to entrust in my own client that I have his best wishes in mind as I pass along this legal responsibility to another lawyer. The last time I did that, it was..."

"Not your fault," the young woman interrupted. "And from what you've told me about your client, I'm sure he would agree."

"Perhaps."

Dana Osorio cracked her neck from side to side and held her purse in her lap. "Well, if this is what gives you peace of mind, then I don't mind your presence, although remember I know my way around human resources and labor laws so be on your best behavior."

Jacobsen chuckled again. "You take all the fun out of the job."

She rolled her eyes at him but had no time for a retort as an orderly approached him. "Sorry for the wait. I can escort you two now to a room with some privacy."

The two lawyers stood up with Dana taking the lead, but before following behind the orderly, she took her tube of lipstick and tossed it in a trash can.

"You took my advice?" Jacobsen asked.

"What can I say? You were right, pops."

* * *

The orderly made small talk with the couple as he led them in the halls. "This is a family meeting room. It's small with a couple of love seats. I can go get him, but I'm gonna bet he's already there waiting for you."

Turning the corner and seeing the door open, the orderly peeked in and then gave a nod to the lawyers. He knocked on the door and stood by it. "Hey Grissom. Your company's here."

Grissom stood up while the lawyers entered. He looked nervous and cleared his throat before offering his hand to Jacobsen. "Wilbur. Good to see you."

"You too, Gil," Jacobsen answered as he shook Grissom's hand and placed his other hand on his friend's shoulder. "You're looking better."

Grissom shrugged and then turned to new person. "Hello. I'm Gil Grissom."

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Dana Osorio. You can call me Dana, Mr. Grissom."

"Nice to meet you, and Gil is fine."

"Dana is one of our finest labor attorneys at the firm, Gil," Jacobsen said. "She was the first person I thought of when I heard about your predicament."

Grissom nodded his head in agreement, and while he seemed pleasant, he still looked somewhat nervous. It was a reaction not lost on Jacobsen or Dana, who decided to relieve some anxiety.

"And just to let you know, Gil, Mr. Jacobsen is not just the firm's partner. He is my father, and he's told me about what you went through. I know it's probably tough for you to trust another lawyer, but I hope you can trust in me the way you trust in my father."

"Is that OK with you, Gil?" Jacobsen asked.

Grissom looked at them both and let out a sigh. "Of course. I'm… This is quite a gesture. From both of you. Thank you."

"Don't give thanks till the job is done," Dana said with a smile.

Grissom smiled back. "Let's sit down." While Grissom sat alone on one love seat, father and daughter sat on the other one. "I remember you talking about your daughters, Wilbur."

"If there was complaints, it was about my sister Margo," Dana said with a deadpan face.

"He didn't complain. Bragged, really," Grissom said. "Although I remember he tells a story about when one of his daughters were little she constantly raided your mother's makeup."

"Definitely Margo."

"Are you sure?" Jacobsen said.

"No proof it wasn't," Dana added, before getting down to business. "So, Gil, let's try to get to the bottom of this. It's your pension that is in flux right now, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"The employer is directly under Clark County or is it defined as the Sheriff's Office or the crime lab?"

"The lab, which is under the discretion of the Clark County Sheriff's Office," Grissom said.

"OK. I just need to get specifics on classifications for HR and such. But I can do that. I have a some experience with the agencies with prior cases," Dana said as she took notes. "Now, how long have you been without a payment and when was it first blocked?"

"When I was denied bail, I guess that's been 10 weeks."

"That's quite a few payments. My father told me you were cleared of all charges, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And when you retired, it was not under the specter of termination, is that correct?"

"I guess there was speculation because my relationship with my wife became known."

"OK, but no formalities were brought up, were they? I'm talking about a memo, a letter, and when I say that I mean one that particularly states termination. Not suspension. Not suspicion. The word termination."

"Well, no. I was never given a pink slip or anything of that nature."

"OK. Good."

"Why have they stopped the payments?" Grissom asked. "I don't understand how they can do that. I was cleared, but someone is holding this up."

"Were you told that by HR?"

"No they haven't answered my phone calls. It was just…"

Dana put up her hands. "That's OK. I don't need to know too many details. Let's just say it was speculation."

Grissom understood her reaction. If she wouldn't be able to question the person about the theory that someone was holding up, she wouldn't want that information around. Could come back and bite Ecklie in the ass, and Grissom needed him in his corner. "Yes. Speculation."

"Any speculation on the person causing this?"

"If I had to guess, it's Ladd Sayers," Jacobsen said. "What do you think, Gil?"

"He certainly is my worst critic."

Dana continued to write notes. "My father has enlightened me about Mr. Sayers and how tenacious he was. Do you think he pressured members of law enforcement to move in the direction of your guilt?"

Grissom sighed. "I… I honestly don't know."

"That's something I can investigate," Dana said. "Gil, while I haven't been through an exhaustive amount of protocols with this particular case, my experience with law enforcement has been that a blocking of pay, benefits, pension, etc., many times is chalked up to a 'bad behavior' clause, for lack of a better term. As if your arrest hurt the image of law enforcement and, as such, they withhold the pension. But, when you are falsely accused with murder, the bad behavior clause kind of goes out the window."

"One would think."

"One would know," Dand clarified. "Now, again, I need to investigate protocols, but that was just an educated, yet speculative, answer to your question. Our starting point, if you will. Now, whe look up information, will I find any commendations in your file?"

"Well, actually…" Grissom paused and reached to the side of the love seat to get a leather satchel. "My mother lives in my old condo, where I still store all my work files. She came for a visit this morning, so I asked her to bring a few files. She brought over more than I expected I haven't searched through everything to see if they can help, but…"

Dana put on a wide smile as she reached for the mass of paperwork in neat file folders. "Are you kidding? I love 'too much.'" She quickly perused different folders. "Is this your original HR manual when you first hired?"

Grissom leaned over. "Yes. How could you tell?"

"The stock photos on the front cover have the worst late 80s early 90s hairstyles. And those pants, ugh," Dana said. "This is a treasure trove. May I take it?"

"Of course."

"Awesome," she said, still looking through information. "And, to answer my question about commendations, I've already found several."

"There might be 'recommendations' as well," Grissom said as he mused about the times he might have pissed off certain higher ups.

"Perfection is not a requirement to get your pension, Gil," Dana said. "I think you have a solid complaint. And I get into the nitty gritty and talk to you again, I wouldn't be surprised if a lawsuit against the person behind the blocking of this person is quite pursuable."

At that comment, Grissom immediately blanched. "A lawsuit? I… why would it come to that?"

"Well, Gil, from what you are saying, clearly there is something going on that is against legal protocols and no one and no organization should get away with that. As my client, you getting appropriate compensation is paramount."

Grissom swallowed a lump in his throat. "I appreciate that… but … I'm not looking for anything but my pension. I just want my pension reinstated."

Dana looked at him critically as Grissom's gaze turned away from the two people in front of him. Dana spied a look at her father, who wordlessly asked her if he could interject a comment. She nodded yes.

"Gil," Jacobsen started, "do you need anything?"

"No," Grissom said wringing his hands. "It's just… I have to think about Sara. Any type of lawsuit is going look bad upon her. She already has a lot of issues where people treat her as a pariah as it is."

"And a lawsuit won't help the situation," Dana continued. "I understand that. I do."

"It might not help me either," Grissom added. "My reputation… it's a mess. And … how is another employer going to take that I sued my former employer?"

"That doesn't have to be public knowledge," Dana said.

"If Ladd Sayers is behind the blocking of my pension, you really think he wouldn't make a lawsuit against his office public knowledge?" Grissom said with both frustration and resignation in his voice. "He'd leak that to the press in a heartbeat. What good would it do?"

Dana took in all Grissom said. She could tell by his speech and posture that there was little chance to persuade him of the possibility of a lawsuit. She might revisit it later but for now, the man in front of her needed reassurance that the essential nature of her job was to restore what is rightfully his.

"Gil, even though I mentioned a lawsuit that does not in any way, shape or form be the only course of action," Dana reassured. "I promise not to do anything you are uncomfortable with. Like you said, what would be the point of that? As such, my course of action thus far will be to discover why specifically the pension was blocked, examine the legalities behind it and restore them ASAP as discreetly as possible. Does that sound good to you?"

Grissom chuffed. "You make it sound so easy."

"Not easy. Succinct," she corrected with a smile. "So, you want to sign some paper so we make this partnership official?"

"No lawsuit?"

"I will avoid that like the plague."

Grissom nodded his head. "OK. I trust you."

Dana smiled, then elbowed her father gently. "You heard the man. Give him a pen, Wilbur!"


	52. Chapter 52

_A/N: Apologies from myself and Co-author/beta JellybeanChiChi for the lengthy delay between chapters. This gem is once again, solely written by Jelly. Fantastic job!_

* * *

Chapter 51

Sara checked her teeth in the mirror for the second time, sliding a finger across the pearly whites satisfied with the squeaky clean sound emitted.

Inspecting herself from side to side, she picked up a pair of tweezers and tried to grasp stray hairs in her eye brows. She frowned as she lifted up her chin to see three stray hairs. "Great. I've grown a beard."

Giving herself a final look, Sara wisped her hair a bit to give it a little more lift than grabbed a bottle of lotion from the cadre of lotions on the vanity.

She exited the open door of the bathroom and made her way toward the bed as she applied lotion to her arms. The bed sheets were already turned down, so she sat down on her side of the bed and applied some lotion to her neck and face before putting the bottle on the nightstand.

The paperback book set next to the lotion made Sara debate whether to read a chapter or two before going to bed, but she shook off the urge and got under the covers.

She turned to the other side of the bed and saw that Grissom was still watching her every move.

"Enjoy the show?" she asked with a cheeky smile.

Grissom's soft smile became wider. "It's been a long time since I've been able to watch and appreciate the show, as you put it." He leaned closer to her to kiss her shoulder. "Your soft skin smells like lilacs. I've missed this."

It was Grissom's first night home after being released from the rehabilitation facility. A homecare therapist would visit tomorrow and one more day each week, and Grissom would fill in the gaps with home exercises.

After months of being on edge and fearful for his life and the future of everyone he loved, Grissom revelled in the normalcy of being in bed with his pregnant wife. As they lay side-by-side, he placed his hand on her belly. "How are you both feeling?"

She placed her hand on top of his. "Good. Better than we have in a while. Although I think I am growing a beard."

"I heard," Grissom said as he momentarily propped himself up. "Although, I'm not sure I understand why you think that…"

Sara craned her head up to expose her chin better for him. She tapped the left side of her chin. "See there? Right there? See those three huge whiskers?"

"Hon, there's nothing…."

She grabbed his finger and put it on the spot she felt. "Right there."

Grissom shook his head and smiled. "Honey, it's a couple of stray hairs…"

"Whiskers," she immediately corrected. "I'm hairy and fat."

"No, you are pregnant with hormones," Grissom said as he kissed the spot with said whiskers. "I hardly think you should quit your day job to join the circus as its bearded lady."

Before he could pull away, she put her hands on either side of his face and looked at him lovingly before giving him a kiss on the lips. When he pulled back, she still cradled his face. "You'll always have the better whiskers."

He smiled wide and laid back down. She turned off the light and followed suit. She cuddled at his side, his arm wrapped around her and his hand drawing gentle circles on whatever skin he encountered.

"It's good to have you home."

His reply was a sigh that Sara knew was an emotional sigh, fraught with unshed tears. No words were needed to confirm how good he felt to be home.

Sara kissed his chest before asking, "Are you ready for tomorrow?" She felt him shrug. "Are you OK about your appointments? I mean, I'm sure the home therapy will be business as usual for you, but going to see that therapist…" Sara paused wondering if he might interrupt, but he didn't. "Gil, I don't want you doing anything that makes you uncomfortable. I didn't expect you to call the therapist right away after I gave you the card."

But he had. After she left after her long visit, she pressed in his hand the business card from a therapist she had gotten to know. She specialized in PTSD and Sara was hopeful she could help Grissom, even in some small measure.

Without breaking the rhythm he created on her arm, he took a deep breath before answering. "I'm not going to lie and say I think it's going to be OK to talk to this therapist. But I don't want to be a liability to you and Daniel anymore. You two have suffered enough because of me."

"You're not a liability, Gil. Please don't think that."

Again, Grissom sighed. "Go to sleep, Sara. We're both tired. Tomorrow will be fine."

She snuggled tightly against him. "I love you, Gil."

Grissom held her tighter and kissed the top of her head reverently. "I love you, Sara."

* * *

Sitting in an office for the first time, Grissom was thankful it wasn't too small. That was one of his fears that interrupted his sleep several times. He'd been in therapist offices during investigations more than a few times. Sometimes they were spacious, especially if it was a doctor with high-profile clientele. But more often than not, it was a more intimate setting. Which was a polite word for small. And confined.

Like a prison cell.

That comparison made Grissom fear he would suffer a panic attack — an unpredictable event that might drag him down and destroy any progress he might make.

"Are you comfortable, Mr. Grissom?"

The question broke Grissom out of his musings. The therapist — Oscar Jimenez — had entered his office with two cups of coffee. It was about 15 feet by 9 feet, Grissom estimated. At least a half size bigger than a jail cell. _Nothing like the jail cell,_ he repeated silently to himself.

"Gil?" Jimenez asked, with a cup of joe outstretched. "You OK?"

Grissom shook his head. "Yes. Thank you." He grabbed the proffered coffee. "I ... uh… You have a couple of photographs up. They're lovely landscapes."

Jimenez, a thin man who was probably a little older than Grissom but could pass for younger, smiled proudly. "My oldest daughter took them. The ones I haven't hung up, too. This is one of my favorites," Jimenez said as he handed a snowy vista. "She's been shooting since she was 14. She's finishing up college."

"Did she pursue photography?" Grissom asked as he inspected the framed photo.

"Nah. Close to getting a pharmacy degree, though. She said she didn't want to 'bastardize' her love for photography with the ugliness of a paycheck."

Grissom handed him back the photo. "Smart girl."

"You think? Sounded like 20-something B.S. to me, you know?"

"I don't know. I understand what she is saying. No sense muddling something you love," Grissom said as he watched the therapist place the photo against one of the four walls. "You know, you might want to place that one facing the adjacent wall. The light from the window will really accentuate it better."

Jimenez gave Grissom a curious look then went to the adjacent wall. "So… here?"

Grissom stood up using his cane and walked to where Jimenez stood. He used the cane to point to a particular spot on the wall. "I was actually thinking of this spot." Then he turned around to where a couple of shots were on the wall. "Then you could cradle that photo with the other two, leaving that area for the more shadowy vistas, like those two," he said as he pointed to a photo on the ground to the left and right.

"I gotta tell you, I'm not a decorator, but my daughter's visiting me later today and I want to impress her," Jimenez said. "You think that will make a difference?"

"It's just an opinion," Grissom said. "My mother worked in an art gallery for years."

"Then you would know," Jimenez said. "Maybe you can jot down a diagram before you leave…"

"We could hang them up now," Grissom said. "It wouldn't take long."

Jimenez chuckled. "Typical law enforcement. All about the stall tactics with you guys and therapy."

"Honestly, I was just trying to help."

"Oh, I'm sure. And if that meant shaving time off your session, icing on the cake?" Jimenez's comment solely garnered a shrug from Grissom. "Tell you what, think we can do it in five or 10 minutes?"

"No more than that."

"We'll hammer and talk," Jimenez said.

The small talk revolved around where Grissom was from and where he had worked. Jimenez specialized in dealing with Post-Traumatic Stress with first responders, and while Grissom was not a CSI now, Jimenez's experience made sense to pair well with Grissom's situation.

"So between working at a coroner's office and a couple of CSI labs, you've been in the business for more than two decades," Jimenez said.

"Was," Grissom corrected.

"But your wife is still a CSI, right?"

"Yes," Grissom said as he gave all the frames one last appraisal before asking, "Do you like it?"

With Grissom's direction, the therapist had three walls beautifully featuring almost a dozen of his daughter's landscapes. "Damn. I never would have thought of this. Thanks, man. It looks beautiful. And all that stuff you explained to me about light and shadow, I can't wait to spring that on her. She'll know I didn't think that up myself, but she'll be impressed."

"I'm glad to help," Grissom said as he finished his now lukewarm coffee.

"Well, let's sit down. Talk some more," Jimenez said, positioning a chair so he could face Grissom but also use his desk to write notes sideways. "You know, when I came in the office you were deep in thought. More than about the photos I think."

"I was… just thinking."

"Tell me what about." Jimenez watched Grissom's face change. "Listen, these sessions are all about what you put into them. Put nothing into them, and you won't get much out of them other than a headache. I don't want to cause you to have headaches, Gil."

Grissom sighed. "I was thinking… about the size of the room."

"Are you too uncomfortable here? Do you feel cramped?"

"No. I was happy it wasn't too much smaller."

Jimenez nodded. "How long were you in a prison cell, Gil?"

Grissom looked down to his left. "A month."

"Cellmate?"

"Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"I did a stint in isolation and there was a couple times I was in the infirmary."

Jimenez jotted down a couple of notes, but for the most part didn't break eye contact. "So coming into this office cold — not knowing the size — probably made you anxious."

"It did. Yes."

"Well, that was really good what you did. You opened up about a stressor," Jimenez said. "That's why we're here. Identify stressors and triggers and see how to deal with them. How to subside them. I would love to say eliminate them."

"So I talked about it and now it's eliminated?"

"Damn, if it was only that easy, Gil," Jimenez said. "Of course not. But it's a step. One of many, I'm sure. If you're willing to talk."

Grissom nodded. "I… I just don't know what to talk about."

"Will you tell me about the day when your life turned upside down?"


	53. Chapter 53

_A/N: Another awesome chapter from co-author, JellybeanChiChi. It's another favorite of mine, and by the end i just wanted to give Grissom a hug. :)_

* * *

CHAPTER 52

The day that turned his world upside down. Was it just one day? His world dissolved so many different times. When he thought things couldn't get worse, they did.

So was there one singular day to answer that question posed by the therapist?

Grissom took a deep breath. "His name was Jake Sullivan and he was an ex-boyfriend of my wife. The moment I met him, I wanted him out of my family's life."

From there Grissom spoke about the fights with Jake, the framing of murder, going to jail, being targeted by Rory's nephew, being betrayed by his lawyer that lead to his kidnapping and torture at the hands of Rory Dunbar. Through it all, Jimenez listening, jotted down notes, and let Grissom pause when he needed to and take a breath when he needed to. He handed him a box of tissues at one point, and poured him a glass of water at another point.

Even after an hour of talking, Grissom continued to speak about the aftermath — the fear of returning to prison, the fear of hurting Sara or Daniel during a nightmare or anxiety attack and fear of ruining his family's life, a feeling that has never ever gone away, even now.

"I can't support myself with my name and reputation anymore," Grissom said forlornly. "I don't know where to go from here."

"That lack of knowing, have you ever felt that before?"

"No," Grissom said, putting a shaking hand through his hair. "It scares me."

Grissom opened his mouth, but no words came out. Seeing that, Jimenez scooted his chair to sit directly in front of Grissom. "You don't have to talk anymore, Gil. Just breathe. Let it out. It's OK to let it out."

Just as the tears fell, Grissom lowered his head in his own hands. While his sobs were barely audible, his shoulders shook. Soon he felt Jimenez's hands upon each shoulder for steady reassurance.

When the therapist felt Grissom's shoulders no longer move, he squeezed them gently and then gave a supportive pat on his back. "You need anything? Water?"

Grissom slowly sat up straight, leading Jimenez to naturally sit back in his own chair and give Grissom his space. Grissom grabbed a few more tissues. "Sorry."

"No apologies, no worries," Jimenez said. "That was a lot of shit to unpack, man."

Grissom let out a sad snort. "Yeah. A lot of shit."

"Sounds like a lot of bullshit, too," Jimenez said uncensored. "Framed for murder. What lab worked the case?"

"My lab… well, my old lab. Sara's lab."

"Did you know the investigators?"

"The lead was one of my proteges."

Jimenez stopped for a second. The sorority and fraternity among first responders was almost sacrosanct. To think his own lab — someone he had trained — helped put him in jail must be especially mentally taxing. "That… that must have been tough for you."

Grissom didn't answer right away. He stared at his hands. "Nothing about this has been easy."

Jimenez waited to see if there was more to the comment. But there wasn't. "You know, the way you looked at my daughter's photos and then figured out how to put them on the wall, I can tell you're good at analysis. I want to see if we can use that gift to help you heal now."

"Heal? I feel like I should just move forward."

"You mean forget about all that shit you talked about and just get a new calendar like the last eight, nine, 10 weeks didn't happen?" Jimenez said. "Look I hear you, I do. But I think we both know that ain't gonna happen."

"Rehashing all those … moments it … I can't…"

"It's painful. It's nauseating. It's a helluva lot of shit to sift through," Jimenez said. "But doing it, and using some techniques with your analytical brain will help. I promise you if you stick it out it will help."

"You shouldn't promise that."

"Why? You don't believe in promises?"

"I've broken my share of promises," Grissom said. "Especially lately."

"Tell me how. What was the last promise you broke?"

"I abandoned my wife. I caused her pain. I came damn close to having my son grow up without a father."

"How are you and your wife doing? Has she been angry with you? Making comments that make those broken promises worse?"

It surprised Grissom that the therapist used the term "broken promises," instead of placating him. Somehow that made Grissom feel more comfortable sharing his feelings. "My wife… Sara…" Grissom paused and tried to contain the emotions he felt for Sara. But it was a losing battle. He voice broke as he talked about her. "She … would have every right to leave me. From the time they arrested me, to my time in jail, to me being home… I don't deserve her. I wouldn't let her visit me in prison. She should have left me for that. I was a complete mess … I probably still am… after what Rory did… She should have packed up and left. … But she didn't. She wouldn't. Even when I begged her to. Even after I struck her… She wouldn't do it. She said she needed to be strong for both us because…" Grissom's voice faded out and he wiped the tears streaming down his face. "I can't be weak anymore. She deserves a strong husband. I want to be as supportive and strong for her as she has been for me."

Jimenez took no notes as Grissom spoke, but offered him rapt attention. "Sounds like a helluva woman."

"She is."

"I gotta ask, man, you mentioned even after you struck her."

Grissom nodded. "I had a nightmare and struck her while we were in bed. I … I know… it's an awful thing. And, please know, I never, ever will lay another hand on her."

"So it was a one time thing, and not during an argument or something else?"

"No. No," Grissom said. "I would… I told her if I ever raised a hand she should pick up our son and leave. She promised me she would."

"I can tell from the tone in your voice that was a really painful thing for you."

"It was."

"You need to forgive yourself for that." Jimenez saw a look of irritation cross Grissom's face, something that he expected and laughed at. "You heard me right. And I'm thinking there are more things you need to forgive yourself for, but we'll get into that in other sessions."

After making that statement, Jimenez jotted a few notes. The room became silent, but offered Grissom time to calm his nerves and emotions.

After a couple of minutes of quiet, Jimenez looked at Grissom, whose gaze found its way to one of the photos on the wall. "Think my daughter will approve of the photo display?"

Grissom returned his attention back to the therapist. "Um… Yes. I think she will."

"You know you never truly answered the question about how you and your wife are. Clearly she supports you, but are there any issues you feel tense or nervous about in your relationship? And I mean other than feeling like you got a lot of work to do."

"We're getting along very well. She's pregnant with our second child."

"Well, alright man," Jimenez said, outstretching his arm for a fist bump. Grissom looked bewildered for a couple of seconds before he awkwardly bumped fists. The moment amused Jimenez, but he kept his chuckles to himself. "Good news always helps create good spirits. So does support. Other than Sara, you get support from other family and friends?"

"My mother."

The clipped answer dismayed Jimenez. Someone who worked in law enforcement should have had more people at his disposal for support, especially if he was found to be framed. But Grissom didn't open up about it. And Jimenez wondered if the man realized the lack of support and the fact the lab helped put him behind bars might be subconsciously eating him up inside.

"I meant to ask you before, did you retire because of your health or cause you were sick of it?"

"I wanted to get married and support my family," Grissom said. "I had an opportunity for a fresh start. I took it."

"Shit, no better reason than that. You mentioned a son?"

"Daniel. He's turning one soon."

"A one-year-old and one on the way? Ah man, have you got some fun times ahead of you," Jimenez said with a smile.

"I hope so," Grissom said with a small smile.

"You a stay-at-home dad, or you working?"

The elusive smile vanished again. "I was. Teaching at a university. But after the arrest…"

"I gotcha," Jimenez said. "So, professor, I'm gonna assume you don't mind homework?"

"You're giving me homework?"

Jimenez turned back to his desk and grabbed a couple of pamphlets. "Some reading and some journaling," he said handing Grissom some literature. "You ever heard of EMDR?"

"No," Grissom said looking at the pamphlet. "Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing?"

"That's it. It's a mouthful."

"What is it?"

"It's a technique to help with trauma and post stress developed by an American psychologist in the late 1980s," Jimenez explained. "The pamphlet has links to Websites about it. I think you'll find it interesting."

"Is that something I have to do?"

"We'll do," Jimenez said. "I'm a trained facilitator for the technique, but before we do it, there are steps you have to complete — we call it intake. That's where that analytical mind will come in handy — we start with the brain and the head and we move to the heart and the gut."

Grissom read a little bit more, which gave Jimenez hope the man would be open to this line of therapy. "I know it can be tough to open up about situations. And like I said before you have a lot of shit to unpack. But what I need you to do is journal about what you are dealing with."

"I thought that was the point of talking to you."

"It is, and all those events you talked about are critical incidents. What I need you to do is talk about specifics on how each incident had specific ramifications for you," Jimenez said. "Is there something to pinpoint, to specify what caused grief, lose, broken trusts, broken loyalties. You might not even realize how something is affecting you personally until you examine analytically and putting it on paper."

"That's… a lot. I don't know how to start."

"You ever do a thesis?"

"Yes."

"Did you know exactly where you were going the first time you sat down in front of a computer… what the hell am I saying, we're two dinosaurs. I should be saying when you sat down with your scroll, quill and inkwell?"

Grissom chuckled. "I'm not quite that old, but I understand."

"Good," Jimenez said. "Just take it slow. Look at your situation from the inside out. See what you come up with."

* * *

Grissom's first night's sleep after his first therapy session was not the greatest, but it wasn't totally because his mind was on overdrive.

Daniel was fussy all night, and Grissom was up with the boy every couple of hours. In the wee hours, he took the boy's temperature and confirmed he had a slight fever. By 6:30 a.m. both mom and dad were wide awake.

"I really don't think he has a cold or the flu," Sara said. "He might be teething again or maybe something upset his stomach. I can still take him to daycare before I go to work."

"Why do that? It's Saturday. Let the kid stay home," Grissom said. "I don't have any appointments. I'll be OK with him. I can ask my mom to check on us around lunchtime in case he gets worse. But I think he's fine. He just needs to rest."

"You know, if I go now, I can leave a little early for shift, if there's nothing pressing," Sara said. "You sure you're OK?"

"We're fine."

"Don't let him oversleep, then we'll never get him on a good pattern during the day or the night…"

"So don't give him shots of whiskey and see where that takes us?"

"Hilarious," Sara said, swatting dad's arm before heading for the shower.

* * *

Arriving a little after 11 a.m., Grissom's mom quickly swooped up her grandson to give him the medical once-over that only a grandmother could.

" _No vomiting?"_ She asked her son in sign language.

" _No. Just a slight fever."_

" _No hives?"_

" _No. No mom. Just a slight fever. He was just fussy…"_

" _Did his crying seem different?"_

" _Different? Different than what?"_

" _Was his belly distended?"_

" _You mean like a corpse pulled out of the lake?"_

That earned him a hard slap on the wrist from his mother. _"Gilbert! That image is not allowed!"_

Although he laughed, he signed his apologies and bowed to his mother's expertise as he tickled Daniel's tummy. _"Do you think he is OK?"_

" _He looks tired."_ She turned to Daniel and made the sign for eating, which the youngster clapped in approval.

Although Grissom followed his mother into the kitchen she shooed him away. _"You look tired, too. Go lie down. After Daniel finishes, I will make you a snack."_

Making his way to the couch, Grissom put down his cane and laid down. But it was only for a moment. He got up and retreated to his study where he stashed the pamphlets from Jimenez. He opened one of his drawers and took out a couple of journals. After he found one without writing inside it, he placed it in front of him and grabbed a pen.

He still didn't know where to start, but he reverted to a saying he had heard during a creative class he took as a junior in college — "Free writing doesn't need to have a starting point, just the point of the pen."

It was close to an hour later when Grissom stopped. He felt exhausted, but also felt stiff from sitting for so long. He grabbed his cane and stood up, his knee heavily protesting the activity. He slowly made the sojourn to the kitchen but found his mother and Daniel in the living room.

Grissom grimaced as he sat down next to his mother on the couch. His mother noticed while her son's gaze was on Daniel, Grissom's attention seemed to be miles away. She tapped him on the arm.

" _Are you hungry?"_ she asked.

" _No. Thank you. But no."_

" _I came into your office to bring you something to eat, but you looked like you were concentrating. Is something wrong?"_

He shook his head in the negative. _"How is Daniel?"_

" _Ready for a nap."_

Grissom nodded his head, and the two watched as Daniel fought sleep as he played with his cloth blocks. Normally Grissom would get on the floor to play too, but this time he had another idea.

" _Mom, since Daniel will be asleep soon, would you mind if I ran an errand?"_

" _You can't drive, Gilbert."_

" _No. I wasn't. I'd call a taxi. It won't be long. An hour at the most."_

One dynamic between Betty and Gil Grissom that had always stayed true is the respect each other had for the other's privacy. He knew his mother wouldn't pry about what errand and she didn't.

" _That's fine, son."_

* * *

 _A/N 2: Look for Wednesday postings of the next chapter on 5th September_


	54. Chapter 54

_A/N: Another awesome chapter from co-author JellybeanChiChi. I love this chapter and the one to follow._

* * *

Chapter 53

Catherine let out a frustrated sigh as she heard the doorbell ring. She had just finished her shower and was wearing jeans and was just debating the necessity of a bra when the bell rang. Quickly pulling on a sports bra and a t-shirt, she left her bedroom to get to the door. She took her time hoping whoever was there had left.

But the person didn't leave. Looking through the peephole, she let out another sigh as she saw who was on the other side of the door.

"Gil," she said, clearly surprised by his presence. "What are you doing here?"

Standing with his cane, his brow lined with sweat, Grissom offered a small smile. "I haven't seen you in a long time. I thought I would drop by."

"Should you be driving?" Catherine questioned. "Or is Sara here, too?"

"Sara's got a shift today. I took a taxi," Grissom explained. "May I come in?"

Catherine really wasn't in the mood for company, but her damn curiosity got the best of her. "I had some plans, but, hell, why not."

She opened the door and he entered leaning heavily on his cane. It had been a long time since they saw each other. Even before his arrest and imprisonment more than months prior, the two hadn't connected with one another for several months before that.

Catherine walked a step in front of Grissom leading him to the kitchen where they could sit down. "Something to drink?"

"Water would be nice."

"Nothing stronger?" She asked as she pulled out a bottle of water and handed it to Grissom.

"No," Grissom replied. "But that shouldn't stop you from imbibing."

"Has it ever?" Catherine said as she poured some vodka with orange juice. "Take a seat."

They sat across one another at her breakfast table. Catherine watched as Grissom took a long swig from his water bottle. He downed the rest of the water in two more gulps. "Thanks."

"Looks like you needed that," Catherine said, taking a slow sip of her drink. "What's on your mind, Gil?"

He pursed his lips and downcast his eyes for a moment before catching Catherine's eyes. "I wanted to talk about the lab."

Catherine leaned back with a slight smile on her face. She had been wondering when this conversation would come up. She figured it would only be a matter of time before Grissom would regret his decision of leaving the lab. And now, with all that happened, Catherine figured he needed to prove himself once again to be the top-notch criminalist he was once celebrated as. Before the spectacle of three months ago practically destroyed what was left of that reputation.

The problem was the lab had moved on without Dr. Gilbert Grissom and Catherine wasn't sure there was room for him anymore, especially considering current events. He might have been proven innocent but his reputation was still tarnished nonetheless.

"Look, Gil, I want you to realize that a lot has happened in the last year, and yes there was a void when you left, but now things are running smoothly and I'm not sure where you would fit…"

"Catherine, I'm not asking to return to the lab."

His quick interruption took her by surprise. But there had to be a reason why he came to the house to talk to her."Well, I mean, if you are looking into doing some consulting, I'm not sure it can be done any time soon, you have to realize with all that's happened…"

"I'm not asking to return to the lab in any capacity whatsoever," Grissom said. "That's not at all why I'm here."

Now Catherine was stumped. "Well, then why…"

Grissom interrupted Catherine for the third time. His ears had turned a shade red and his voice came out anxious and in a rush. "I want to know why everyone in the lab had abandoned Sara."

Catherine leaned forward and took another sip of her drink. In contrast, her words came out slow and succinct. "What are you talking about? Sara is off her suspension, which by the way was paid," upon saying that statement there was an edge of bitter sarcasm in her voice. "I really don't understand why you think she had been abandoned."

"I'm talking about after I was arrested and sent to prison," Grissom said punctuating his point by tapping a single finger on the table. "The lab, people we've known for years, didn't check on her, offer her support, basically abandoned her, while I was gone and while I was accused, and I wanted to know why."

The accusation exasperated Catherine whose barely polite demeanor slipped a little more. "If anybody abandoned Sara while you were in prison it was you, Gil," Catherine said with her arms crossed across her chest. "I heard how you refused to see her. And more than once. Never called. Never contacted her."

"You're right. I did do all that," Grissom said, working to taper any anxiety and anger. "But maybe avoid making judgments about my decisions when I was behind bars getting the shit beaten out of me and didn't want my wife to worry more about me than she had to."

Catherine didn't know how to respond to that statement and Grissom recognized it. "Catherine, while everything was spinning out of control, I kept thinking Sara would be OK. People will be there for her. Because when Sara was taken…" Grissom paused. Those memories still made his heart sink. He took a deep breath and continued. "When Sara was taken, I had support around me. I suppose because you all knew … we were being victimized. But when I was accused… I thought there would be support for her but that didn't happen."

"Gil, you need to treat this like water under the bridge," Catherine said with a motherly, mock-calm voice. "This whole… situation was not easy for any of us."

The audacity Catherine presented didn't shock Grissom, but it didn't feel good either. Because it wasn't just the statement itself that stung but the hidden meaning behind it. "It's starting to make sense now."

"Really? What? That you're being an ass out of the blue?" Catherine said, downing the rest of her drink. "Newsflash, that's one of your typical, albeit, less-than-charming qualities."

"Things were different this time because you didn't see me as a victim," Grissom said. "You really thought I murdered him, didn't you?"

Catherine held Grissom's gaze. It was as if the two were locked in their spot waiting for the other to break. After two decades of knowing each other, working with each other, they had locked gaze many times before. Catherine knew how to hold her own, but this time after less than 10 seconds she had to look away. "Dammit, Gil, that's not a fair question."

"Yes, it is," Grissom said. "You were all nervous, distant, but especially you. I didn't see you at all after the arrest. You were the first out of the room when the judge made the decision on my hearing."

"Yeah, well, I had work to do," Catherine said in her most catty voice. "The world didn't stop turning when they put you in prison, Grissom."

"Mine did," he said gravely. "And Sara's world was crumbling."

Catherine rolled her eyes. "It's over now, Grissom. You got out and I'm glad you did. I am. But you need to move forward and stop looking for things that don't exist."

Grissom couldn't contain his anger upon seeing her eye roll. "If nothing existed and this is all in my goddamn head, then answer the question, Catherine! Did you think I murdered Jake Sullivan?!"

"Gil, you have NO right to carry that tone with me!"

"Answer the question, Catherine."

"Why don't you go to hell?!"

Her retort didn't stop Grissom one iota. "Why don't you answer the question? Did you think I murdered Jake Sullivan?!"

"YES, OK!" Catherine screamed. "You fucking happy, now?!"

Catherine stood up and went to the counter to pour another drink. Grissom sat there and processed what he just heard. He felt rooted in the chair but saw how his hand shook as he swiped at his eye.

With her eyes closed, Catherine took a long pull off her drink. She put the glass down and smoothed her clothes. "I think it's best you leave."

Grissom looked up at her and saw she couldn't hold his gaze. "No. I'm not leaving yet."

His defiance got her attention. "Excuse me?"

He stood up and stood across from her, the breakfast bar between them. "We've known each other for 20 years, Catherine. We've been through… a lot. I… I don't understand how you thought I did that."

Catherine shook her head. "You aren't the same man I've known for 20 years." She placed both her hands flat upon the counter pressed her weight and frustration upon her arms. "That lab was your life, Gil. _Your life._ And all of us, we were supposed to be a family. But there you were taking liberties with someone in the family. Holding secrets and then upending everything in the end for your personal gain."

"Taking liberties?" Grissom's voice was deep. "I fell in love."

"You used your position in a higher authority and violated company policy by engaging with an employee who could have used your relationship to further her career. I don't care how in love you were, Gil, the bottom line is you were sleeping with a subordinate and, as an added bonus, you got her pregnant." She lifted her hands up and gestured with them to punctuate her frustration and disappointment. "And then, you just left! Washed your hands of that responsibility and left. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was for the lab, Gil! Do you have any idea the fallout from employee relations after that?"

Grissom's face became stoic. "Don't mince words, Catherine. You're saying I damaged the lab because I screwed an employee, knocked her up and got caught with my pants down. A year later, some younger man comes along so I crushed his windpipe for looking at my bitch the wrong way, is that what you're saying?"

"I never said that," Catherine's voice matched the angry timber of Grissom's voice. "If you are going to be crude and accuse me, then just get the hell out."

"But that's the kind of talk you heard, right?" Grissom countered, not moving from his spot. "I know how crude the gossip can be, especially from coworkers who didn't know the situation, weren't part of our team. Is that what you heard? And when you did hear it, did you say … anything?"

"I... "Catherine stumbled. She could have lied and said she never heard that type of gossip or if she did, she explained the situation. But what would be the point of that. Knowing him, he would recognize the lie and throw it back in her face. "Fine, Gil. Yes… there was a lot of gossip. A lot. And it wasn't my job to go around preserving your precious reputation because I had a lot of work to do."

Grissom downcast his eyes and leaned a little more heavily on his cane. When he spoke, his voice was considerably softer. "I'll never forget the first time I heard the disparaging gossip about you when you started working." It didn't take long for people at the lab and in law enforcement to find out Catherine's background as a dancer and daughter of a casino owner. Catherine had a perpetual chip on her shoulder because along with being a woman, she had a past and when she was first working, people wouldn't let her forget it.

But Grissom was not one of those people, which was why they became friends. "All that gossip, it hurt me to hear those things because … you were my friend. Sometimes all it would take was a 'not interested' or a 'shut up' to get people to stop. Except that asshole cop, George Thompson, remember him?" He spied a look at Catherine who tried to make her face unreadable. "Things got a lot better when he left."

"Yeah, much better. After what happened to him at that bar — Hightower's. Eddie told me he'd go there to check out the guys I worked with. Make sure he didn't have competition," Catherine said, her eyes on her counter. Recalling her dead ex-husband Eddie always brought back feelings of unease. But at least this was a memory that didn't make her shudder. "Thompson was a massive guy, but someone got in his face after he started talking shit about me. No one would ever say who it was, but the gossip did die down. Probably one of the only good things Eddie ever did for me."

Catherine lifted her head and saw the tired look on her longtime friend's face. All this time she assumed it was Eddie who stood up for her, but now it made sense. Grissom took his share of grief from others in law enforcement. And not many of those macho guys would want to admit a big, burly guy got bested by the resident science geek.

"You?"

Grissom nodded solemnly.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

The questioned garnered a shrug. He didn't bring that up to throw it back in her face, he just wanted her to understand he always tried to have her back. "You thought it was Eddie. I figured it was better that way."

She almost looked contrite, but Catherine's ego wouldn't allow it. Instead, she stood firm. "Well, that was a long time ago."

"Yes, it was," Grissom agreed. Mentally he debated whether he should leave now. But he came to her house not for a casual visit but for a true purpose. And not for himself, but for his wife.

"Catherine I want you to know, with everything that happened, I never thought I ever tarnished the reputation of the lab. Perhaps I should have thought of that. I certainly never wanted to tarnish anything because, you're right, the lab was my life and everyone there… well, they became my family.

"I never asked anyone to preserve my reputation," Grissom continued with a sad chuckle. "I am more than capable of ruining my own reputation. The last few months have taught me that."

They stood in silence for a moment. Then Grissom asked in a voice devoid of anger, devoid of frustration, but filled with melancholy a question he truly didn't want to ask. "Is that why you told people to stay away? Greg? Warrick? Nick? You? You were afraid association with me or Sara would ruin everyone's own reputations?"

Catherine took a deep breath and stood up straight. "You were accused of murder and evidence was solid. I told them they didn't deserve to take any grief out of loyalty. They had to move forward in order to avoid being dragged down."

Grissom tried to put himself in Catherine's shoes. She was always the mother hen, and her attitude matched the moniker. Because of the accusations, she saw Grissom not as her longtime friend but as nothing but trouble. And you don't let people you love mix with trouble.

But the accusations and, more importantly, the evidence was wrong. Grissom wondered if Catherine ever considered that as a possibility, or if she let residual feelings of hurt and bitterness serve as blinders. Looking in her eyes and processing what she said, he knew the painful answer to that question.

He sought to ask Catherine questions and he gained answers he sought, ones that stabbed him in his heart.

"It would be one thing to keep them away from me, but Sara didn't deserve to be shunned. No matter how you want to spin it in your head, you were wrong to do that, Catherine," he said. "I think I should go."

Catherine said nothing as she stood in her spot. She gazed outside a side window, willing herself not to make eye contact with Grissom as he made his way out the kitchen, down the hall and out the front door.


	55. Chapter 55

_A/N: I just ADORE this chapter, written solely by co-author JellybeanChiChi. This chapter is just outstanding, and another favorite of mine. :)_

* * *

Chapter 54

Once outside Catherine's place, Grissom almost wished he asked the taxi driver to wait for him while he was inside the house. But he had no idea how long he would be there. He felt uncomfortable standing in front of her house or in front of a neighbor's house waiting for a taxi, so he decided he would walk towards a park he knew was nearby. He figured he could call a taxi from there and wait on a bench.

Fifteen minutes later, Grissom's shirt was soaked with sweat. The summer Nevada sun beat down on him mercilessly and there wasn't a lot of shade available on the sidewalk. But he kept his slow sojourn. At the very least, the heat kept his mind off the heavy conversation he had had with Catherine.

That was until he saw her car trail alongside him. When he noticed her, he stopped, and so did she. He watched as she rolled down the automatic window. "Where are you going?"

Grissom pointed his cane to the south. "To the park. I figured I could call a taxi from there…"

"Farther than you thought, huh?" Catherine said. "Come in. I'll take you home."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not," she insisted.

Grissom looked in the distance. With his slow pace, he probably had another 15 minutes to walk. "I can just call the taxi from here, and by the time I get there…"

"You'll pass out from heat stroke," Catherine said as she opened the door to her car. She got out and approached him. "We don't have to talk, Gil. Please. Give me this chance to help you."

"I thought you said you had plans."

"When did I say that?"

"When you opened the door and found me there."

"Oh. I lied." Catherine said with a small smile.

While she was trying to be funny, Grissom still couldn't appreciate the joke. But he walked to the passenger's side of the car and got in.

The drive was quiet for the first few minutes, but the tension became a little unbearable for Catherine. She had hoped maybe he would talk with her. Instead he looked out the window, a familiar look of sadness upon his face.

Catherine knew why he felt the way he did, and she also knew she was the source of that disappointment. But she did what she did out of necessity and hoped he would come to understand that.

Still, the silence bothered her. Did she miss her friend? She shook that thought of her head. _Small talk_ , she thought. _He can't brush off small talk._ "So, where's Daniel today?"

"At home."

"By himself?" she asked, full of mirth that she hoped he would match.

But he didn't. "My mother came for a visit, and is watching him," Grissom said matter-of-factly.

"She must love spending time with him."

Grissom nodded his head.

"His birthday's coming up, right?"

Again, there was only a nod.

Grissom wasn't avoiding talking about Daniel; he was avoiding talking to Catherine. And that did make her sad. She had to admit, she did miss her friend.

The silence reigned once more and it caught up to Catherine when she hit a stoplight about three miles from his house. She swallowed the lump in her throat and willed her tears to dry before they fell. She would have been OK if she didn't glance to her right. That's when she noticed Grissom had turned his head and was observing her.

She quickly turned her head away. She couldn't possibly hold his gaze. At this point, the silence was welcome.

But Grissom broke that silence. "He's walking now. He took his first steps towards Sara and me when I was in rehab."

Catherine could picture that moment in her head and it was impossible to will a solitary tear that pooled in her eye.

"Catherine, look at me."

She bit her lip, took a deep breath and tried to put on the most composed face she could. But it's hard to hide something from someone who could read you like a book.

"If I did leave the lab tarnished, embarrassed or in disarray, I can say I'm sorry, but I will never say I regret leaving," he said, his voice low. "I don't know if I deserve the life I have now, but I cherish it, Catherine. I hope you can understand that. I hope that's explanation enough for you in regards to what I did."

Then, it was silent again. Five long minutes later, Catherine pulled into the Grissom driveway. She put the car in park.

"Thank you," Grissom said as he reached for the door. But before he could open it, Catherine stopped him by putting her hand on his forearm.

"Believing you murdered Jake Sullivan was one of the toughest moments I've ever experienced in my life," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "It's also my biggest regret. By far, my biggest regret."

Grissom looked down at his hands. He wasn't sure how he felt. There was a definite shift between them and a chasm had formed that most likely couldn't be bridged. But maybe a new path might be possible.

"Do you…" Grissom cleared his throat. "You want to see Daniel?"

Catherine smiled, astonished at the offer. "I'd like that."

Grissom opened the front door for her and led her inside. He sneaked a peek in the living room and heard nothing in the kitchen. "They're upstairs in his room. Go ahead. Takes me a little longer. First door on the right."

Catherine took the lead and when she got to the child gate at the top, she expertly undid the latch and put it aside for Gil, who still had seven steps to go. She went to the right and saw Grissom's mother and Daniel. "Hello," she said as she waved to them both.

"Catherine?" Grissom's mother said aloud.

"It's been a long time," Catherine said slowly, so his mother could read her lips. She went to Daniel who was standing in his crib. "Hey there, Daniel."

Daniel heard his father's gait and cane before he entered the room and put up his arms to signal, "Let me out, lady. Daddy's home."

Catherine picked him up and Grissom waved at him and then his mother. The two exchanged signs and then Betty excused herself to go downstairs.

"She's going to start some coffee," Grissom explained.

"He's gotten so big."

"Well, it's been a while since you saw him last," Grissom said, poking his son in the belly, which garnered giggles. "You mind holding him for a second. I want to change my shirt." He pulled on the sweat-stained shirt that dried but smelled.

"Go ahead I got him."

Grissom left for the bedroom on the other side of the stairway. While Catherine said she had Daniel, he squirmed relentlessly out of her grasp. "OK. OK. You want down. I get it."

No sooner had he been put on the floor did Daniel make a beeline for his parent's bedroom. Grissom hadn't closed the door, and Daniel walked inside and grabbed onto his father's calf before he could fall down.

Grissom had taken off his shirt and was just going to put on another one when he felt Daniel's weight on him. He smiled wide and scooped the boy up. "I thought you were in your bedroom," he said as he tickled Daniel's sides and under his arms garnering more giggles. "You just want to cause problems, don't you?"

He let the boy stand on the bed and held his hands while he encouraged him to bounce on the bed. "One. Two. Three!" At "three" Grissom pulled up Daniel in a big jump, which the boy loved. He repeated the action over and over.

Catherine watched the two from the doorway with utterly mixed emotions. Who wouldn't want to see their longtime friend enjoy an innocent moment with a cherished child? The fatherly moment elicited a watery smile. And while that kept her mesmerized, she couldn't take her eyes off Grissom's back. Without the shirt she saw the angry red lines and raised scars from his attack. That image made her smile waver ever so slightly.

She knocked on the door frame, surprising Grissom, who turned around while still holding Daniel's hands. "Oh, sorry, Cath. Come in." He let go of Daniel's hands and the boy sat on the bed with a plop. Grissom quickly put on his shirt then picked up his son before turning to Catherine.

"He's a real heart breaker," Catherine said. "Keeps you busy."

"Yeah, in a good way," Grissom said. "I need to take him downstairs."

"I'll hold him. It's probably easier for you to take the stairs without this sack of potatoes," Catherine said, taking Daniel in her grasp. "I'll follow behind you. Take your time."

Once they got to the first floor, Catherine gave a kiss to Daniel on his head and handed him back to his father. "Thanks, Gil. He's a sweetie."

"You want some coffee?"

"No. I should go."

Grissom put Daniel down and held the boy's left hand in his right hand. He gestured for Catherine to take the boy's other hand. She picked up the cue, and the trio walked to the door together. Once at the door, the two released Daniel's hand and he latched on to his father's healthy right leg.

Catherine chuckled at the image. A chubby fist in the toddler's mouth and the other arm snaked around daddy's leg. And Daddy couldn't look more content, even as he held a cane in his left hand. She lovingly stroked Grissom's arm and leaned in to kiss his cheek. "You deserve this life, Gil."

She left without either one of them saying, "goodbye."

* * *

"Stupid bolt. Come loose."

Sara never minded the task of pulling apart a car for evidence, but she had to admit the task was less difficult as a twenty-something CSI than a 36-year-old pregnant mother CSI. So when the bolt she was trying to pry free was being a brat, she took it personally. She strained as she tried to turn the wrench Lefty Lucy.

"Don't make me come at you with cutters," she threatened. "My hormones are out of whack so don't try me, you stupid, freakin' bolt."

Finally succeeding she let out a healthy "HA," for no one to hear but herself.

Yet as she stood back from the car she heard someone offer applause. She turned around in surprise. "Catherine? Is that you?"

"Last person you expected to see?"

"Well, yeah, I guess," Sara said.

"Do you still ask to take apart the cars, or is it some kind of weird lottery you always win?"

Sara smiled. "I don't mind. It's kind of solitary work, which lately…" She abruptly stopped talking, but asked kindly. "You're a little early for shift. Is everything OK?"

Catherine's foot tapped unconsciously on the floor. "You got a minute to talk?"

Her smile slightly melted, Sara took a cloth to clean some grime off her hands. "Sure. What's up?"

"Well," Catherine started. "Gil surprised me with a visit this morning."

"What? He drove to your house?" Sara exclaimed. "But I took his keys away. He must have a spare somewhere in secret. Dammit, with his meds he shouldn't be driving…"

Catherine put up her hands in surrender. "Relax. He took a taxi."

"Oh," Sara said, pulse suddenly slowing down. "OK."

"And before you freak out, Daniel was at home with your mother-in-law."

"Yeah, he said she was going to drop by before lunch to check on them," Sara said. "Gil was afraid Daniel had a little fever this morning so insisted he not go to daycare. I think he just wanted to spend the morning with him since he didn't have therapy. He wanted Betty to drop by in case they needed to go to the doctor."

"Well, Daniel looked fine when I dropped Gil back off at your house."

"Oh, good." Sara felt as uncomfortable as her tone indicated.

It was not lost on Catherine. But she didn't exactly feel at ease at the moment either. "I… uh… Sara I need to tell you something and I need you to hear me out. Let me explain."

Sara's face looked both curious and worried, and suddenly Catherine saw Sara not as CSI Sidle with a crush on CSI supervisor Grissom, but as a woman who had faced her share of tribulations. Enough to pick up on something that would make her anxious, but also enough to know challenges can be surpassed.

"You've been kind of going solo for a while, haven't you?" Catherine started.

"Uh… I'm not sure what you mean."

"Well, at the lab, you've been on a lot of cases by yourself?"

"Yeah, but, you know. I get partnered every once in a while. Things are different on the day shift. I'm kind of the odd girl out."

Catherine nodded. "I guess, you've also been kind of solo on the home front, I mean when Gil was … out of commission… you were with Daniel by yourself."

The serious look on Sara's face showed she wasn't amused by this line of questioning. "If 'out of commission' you mean either in jail, or taken hostage, or in the hospital, then yeah, Daniel and I were on our own."

"Good to have Grissom home?" Catherine asked.

"Of course it is. Cath, what is going on?"

Catherine looked down on the floor then raised her head to look into Sara's eyes. "When everything happened to Gil, I told the guys to … lay low…"

"Lay low?" The irritation in Sara's voice was obvious.

"Yes. Lay low."

Sara leaned against the car she was working on and folding her arms across her chest. "Lay low? Or stay away?"

"Same thing."

"No. It's not," Sara said. "Catherine, you told them to stay away from me?"

"I know it sounds awful, Sara…:

"Awful and unbelievable!" Sara threw her wrench down into her tool box on the floor. "Why?… How could you have done that?!"

"You have to understand why I did it," Catherine started, putting up her hand before Sara could retort. "Please, just let me try and explain."

Sara shook her head. "You can try."

"You know how the lab is. You know the gossip mill. You know how territorial this place can get. When I saw that evidence, I don't know how to explain it Sara, I think I went so numb I needed to isolate everyone else." Catherine's gaze turned distant. "None of them liked what I told them. But Warrick seemed to try and understand straight away, and Nicky… he was so conflicted by issues of betrayal, on Grissom's end, and maybe on his own end, too. Then there was Greg. He was the toughest nut to crack. He finally relented after a huge shouting match."

"I…" Sara started but needed to stop as the bubble of anger rose in her chest. "I don't even know what to do with this information, Catherine."

"Sara, I thought I was doing the right thing by doing what I did, but, thanks to your husband, I realized it really accomplished nothing in the long run," Catherine said. "And I don't want you to look on what happened and blame the guys. I pushed them to isolate themselves away from you and Gil."

Catherine watched as Sara stood silently, her gaze focused on another part of the garage. She was deep in thought and Catherine had no idea the reaction Sara would have. After a long moment, Sara pushed herself off the car and stood almost immediately in front of Catherine. Standing nose to nose, with her arms still crossed in front of her chest.

"It did accomplish something. Distance. Isolation. Horrible, terrible feelings of betrayal for me and for Gil. I've been questioning a lot of things since this happened."

"I can imagine."

"No, I'm not sure you can. But I wouldn't want you to ever have to," Sara said sadly. "And what exactly did you mean when you said, 'thanks to my husband?'"

"The reason why Gil showed up at my house unannounced was because he was angry with me," Catherine said. "He wanted to know why we — the team — abandoned you."

"That must have flown like a lead balloon," Sara said without a hint of mirth.

"You can say that again. You know how I am." Catherine looked as if she was going to reach out and grab Sara's hands, but at the last minute pulled away. "I was surprised he let me drive him home. The stubborn ass thought he could walk a mile in the midday sun to call a taxi from a park by my house." Catherine paced a bit, now with her arms crossed in front of her chest. "I was surprised, but he invited me in the house. I got to see Daniel. He's just a beautiful child, Sara, and, God, Grissom loves that baby."

Sara's face softened ever so slightly. After all, Catherine was talking about the two most important people in her life. "Daniel loves his dad a lot, too. He had a hard time being separated from him."

Catherine looked down to avoid losing it at that comment. She took a deep breath and did something she did not do often. "I realize now my actions, despite having the best intentions, were dead wrong. And, Sara… I'm sorry."

At that moment, Sara couldn't avoid the anger and bitterness she held towards Catherine. She could have told her to "go to hell," but Sara also knew apologies do not come lightly when it comes to Catherine Willows. This moment in time belonged solely to Sara and Catherine awaited how the woman would react. Sara had every right to hold the feelings she had. It all came down to how she would choose to react.

She took a deep breath before she spoke.

"Apology accepted." Sara's tone was laced with reflection, which might also be recognized as ambivalence.

Catherine let out a breath she didn't realize she held. "Thank you."

The two shared a silent moment that felt somewhat awkward, but necessary. Just as Catherine recognized how her actions damaged her relationship with Grissom, she saw how the same was true with Sara. Yet, the couple individually offered her an olive branch. Their reactions gave the single mother a lot to think about.

After a minute or two, Catherine put down her hands and reached into her jeans for her keys. "Well, I'd offer to help here, you know for old times sake, but I'm not dressed."

"Thanks for the offer, but I'll be fine," Sara said, her reaction still guarded. "And… thanks for driving Gil home."

"Stubborn fool. Some things never change with him," Catherine said, trying to lighten the mood.

"He always will be Grissom, no matter what." Sara said with the upmost seriousness.

"Yeah. You're right," Catherine said, reflecting on how because she had forgotten that notion two months ago much damage was caused. After a beat, she addressed Sara again before leaving the garage. "Take care, Sara."

Standing alone, Sara lost interest in the car she was supposed to process. The silence in the garage enveloped her. She felt an urge to get away with a friend and chat.

Exiting the garage, she took out her cell and scrolled through her contacts. She smiled as she heard a groggy voice on the end. "Hey Greggo, did I wake you?"


	56. Chapter 56

_A/N: Another great chapter from co-author JellybeanChiChi. A fantastic job as always_

* * *

CHAPTER 55

It amazed Sara how refreshed she felt an hour after having such an eye-opening, yet frustrating and painful, conversation with Catherine Willows.

Catherine owning up her to her role and responsibility in isolating Sara could have devastated Sara emotionally. And it did make her heart sink. But it also empowered Sara in a way. She always believed she and her husband had been treated poorly and treated wrong, and Catherine's apology gave credence to that.

And truth be told, the mother hen might have presented that edict to the guys on her former shift, but they choose to follow it. Sara hadn't seen Warrick since he came over the house with Nick, Brass and Catherine after Grissom's arrest. Like the rest of them, they left after about 20 minutes. That was the last time she had heard or had seen of him.

Nick had offered an apology after Grissom's kidnapping. But when Sara showed up at work following Grissom's nightmare, Nick immediately reverted back to being full of pompous judgments, once again not displaying trust in Sara's instincts. It hurt not being able to confide in Nick, but had shown his colors too many time in the last few weeks when it came to Grissom and Sara. She saw Nick a couple of times at work, but he quickly slunk away hoping not to catch her eye. Maybe it was remorse. But Sara wasn't in a place to explore what his feelings were. Maybe she would in the future, but she had other things in her life that needed her attention now.

Then there was Greg, Sara's closest friend at CSI. Sometime before everything happened with Jake and Grissom, Greg had been away on a continuing education course. Sara couldn't even remember how long the course last. With her whole world turned upside down, Sara wasn't even sure when Greg left for the course or when he came back.

In the midst of all the craziness, there were moments Sara wondered why she hadn't heard from Greg. Since she got married and left the shift, things had changed between Greg and her, but she still felt they were close. She always thought the two of them were the type of friends who could pick up where they left off, no matter how much time had passed.

Then why didn't Greg reach out to her?

Hearing Catherine say he pitched a fight about staying away made Sara feel hopeful. Yes, she questioned her relationship with Catherine and Warrick, and she needed a little more time to pass before she might consider mending fences with Nick. But she felt she needed to know as soon as possible what went on with Greg.

That spurred her last minute call to Greg. She woke him from what was most likely a deep sleep, but she could practically hear him pop up in his bed after he heard her voice. Sara could have sworn it was surprise and relief in his voice. "I've been thinking about you," Sara said to him, which garnered a pained response from him, "Probably not as much as I've been thinking about you."

The silence from both of them followed those opening statements. Clearly small talk wasn't a good idea for the conversation, so Sara asked, "If you're not busy now, you feel like a coffee or a drink or … something?"

He recommended the place — one not too far from Sara's house — and said to meet in about an hour. That gave Sara plenty of time to close up her responsibilities at work and call Grissom to say she was making a pit stop before getting home.

Despite the place being on the other side of town from Greg, he was sitting at an outdoor table for her. When she approached the table, she was surprised by the disheveled person before her. Mustering her best smile, she said, "Hey Greg."

In response, he stood up and grabbed her in big hug. His voice caught in his throat as he spoke. "I can't believe you called me."

Sara drew back. "I know it's been a while and It's been crazy, I'm sorry…"

"No!" Greg exclaimed. "Sara, I'm the shit. I thought you dropped me like a rock and you'd have every right. I just…" His voice cracked again. "It's so good to see you. I'm sorry for not being the friend I should be."

Sara had to swallow the lump in her throat. She could feel the impending tears threatening to stream down her face. Greg must have recognized it too and drew her back into his arms.

"I'm sorry, Sara. For everything," Greg said in a soothing voice. "I screwed up and I'm sorry. Thank you for letting me be here with you."

After a minute Sara calmed and Greg took a step back. "It's hot out here. Wanna go inside?"

Sara smiled and grabbed Greg's hand. "Come on. You're paying."

* * *

It was relatively empty inside the coffee house/cafe. The two friends stared up at the vast menu board.

"So am I getting you the jumbo mondo Cafe Latte with whipped cream, no cinnamon or the super jumbo mondo?" Greg asked.

"You mind if I get something other than coffee?"

"Other than coffee?" Greg said, putting the back of his hand upon her forehead. "How long have you been this hysterical? Did you drive a Hummer here?"

Sara playfully swatted Greg's hand away. "I'm not hysterical, Greg. I have to layoff caffeine for a while."

"How long?" Greg asked suspiciously.

"A grand total of 40 weeks."

"Oh my God, you're pregnant?"

"Yes, Greg I'm pregnant, and, before you ask, no, Greg, we are not naming the child after you."

After feigning mock disappointment at their inside joke, Greg put his arm around Sara's shoulder. "OK, so if I remember correctly from the last time you were with child, let's find the most disgusting smoothie on the menu… OH! I see raspberry creme with citrus and kale, that's sounds absolutely frightening."

"Actually, that sounds kind of good," Sara said

"No shocker there, Sidle," Greg said. "Now, it needs to be paired with something that in no way matches the texture and flavors of said smoothie… Shall I also get the cinnamon/raisin scone?"

Although Sara knew she was the butt of his joking, she couldn't dispute the fact that particular scone looked appetizing.

After ordering and getting the food, Greg had Sara sit down and arranged the goodies in front of her. He had a coffee for himself. Sitting across from each other, Greg offered Sara a lopsided smile. "I hope the news of another baby made you and Grissom happy."

"Yes. Very happy," Sara said sincerely, which caused Greg to take a cleansing deep breath. "With everything that's been going on I didn't know how or when to tell Gil, but it slipped out one morning while we were having a teasing argument … it was actually funny."

"I bet."

"Yeah," Sara said softly, recalling the moment in the kitchen. "And his mother was absolutely thrilled. She immediately got her car keys and said we needed to go shopping. She insisted. So we got in her car and she drove to a department store where she made a beeline for the children's section and bought Dan three outfits that read, 'I'm gonna be a big brother.'"

"Grissom must have loved that," Greg said with a laugh.

But Sara's face faltered a fraction. "Actually, he still had the ankle bracelet on. He couldn't go to the store with us."

The dynamic of the visit receded back to the atmosphere when Sara first arrived — two friends filled with awkward anxiety. Greg slumped in his chair slightly and made a death grip on his cup of coffee. "I couldn't imagine how it felt for you to go through that. Hell, I couldn't imagine what Grissom was going through. All those years. All that dedication and …" Greg snapped his fingers loudly, angrily, "just like that he's immediately viewed as a murderer. Almost without a second thought."

"Where you in town when he was arrested?" Sara asked. "I… I don't remember even when you left for that seminar, much less when you came back."

"You have had a shitload of stuff on your mind, Sar. I wouldn't expect you to remember," Greg said. "I left before that guy Jake got into town."

"Oh OK. Right. I think I emailed you about if you needed a ride to the airport…"

"It was a six-week course on looking at DNA from all sides, and by the time I came back the lab was like a fucking tornado," Greg said. "I got the flight back maybe two hours before shift and when I arrived Catherine gave me case in Elko that kept me occupied for a week of double, sometimes triple shifts up north."

"You were solo?"

"Yeah, but that's been happening a lot lately," Greg said with a sigh.

"I remember you saying months ago that you and Catherine didn't see eye-to-eye," Sara said.

"Yeah, and it hasn't gotten any better, with her or the guys," Greg said. "Jeez, Sara, I don't mean to bitch about anything… this shouldn't be about me."

"No, Greg, don't think that," Sara said. "I … I need to know what's going on. These past couple of months… they've…"

"They've been hell for you."

"Yeah, and I called you because Catherine came to see me," Sara said. "She told me some things and I'm just… kind of floored me. I'm not sure what to think about anything when it comes to the lab."

Greg nodded his head. "It's not the same place, Sar. Not even close. I never would have thought one guy leaving would make such a difference, but, when Grissom left, it changed. Became really political, really fast." He downed the rest of his coffee and rubbed his hands along his thighs. "Sara, I'm not trying to make excuses, but when all this shit went down with Grissom, I didn't get a phone call or a text or anything."

"Nick didn't tell you?" Sara said with surprise. "I mean, you guys are close."

Greg shrugged, but his expression said volumes. It made Sara a little more sad inside. "But you said when you came back you were immediately slammed with a case. So, when did you hear about it?"

"Maybe a week after I came back from the seminar," Greg said, feeling and sounding completely and utterly contrite. "I was so slammed and so focused and so isolated, the only person I was in contact was Catherine."

"And she never told you?"

At that, Greg's face twisted and his demeanor changed. Sara could feel anger radiate from her friend, a man who possessed one of the kindest and patient spirits she ever encountered. "No. Not Catherine. Not Nick. Not Warrick," Greg said bitterly. "After I finished up in Elko, I get a text from Catherine about a court hearing on another case. I'm hanging around the hallways waiting, and you know who fucking told me? Patrick fucking Davies. Came up to me laughing it up, telling me the 'big savior of the night shift is nothing but a murdering piece of shit.' I had no idea what he was talking about and he smacks me on the back and said Grissom's getting buttfucked in prison." The second that last phrase left his mouth, he instantly regretted it. "Jesus, Sara, I'm sorry. I should never have said that."

Sara put up her hand. "You're being honest. Trust me, I know what the gossip was like," she said sadly. "I can't believe the team didn't tell you."

"Neither did I," Greg said. "Got my hands on the case file, and dammit, there were just little things that bothered me, so I approached Catherine about it. When I did both Nick and Warrick were in the room."

"Was this when Gil was in prison?"

"Yeah, he was."

"What kind of things bothered you?"

"You mean other than thinking Grissom committed murder, much less was sloppy about the evidence left?" Greg said. "Why would he just throw away the boots from the crime scene at his house, not to mention, walk to the park using a pair of shoes that had been chewed up by his dog? That didn't make sense. I begged them to let me run the DNA on the boots again."

"What did they say about that?" Sara asked.

"They said I was trying to look for evidence that wasn't there," Greg said. "Nick really took offense and got pissed. Said he did everything by the book. I told them with this one, he should have looked outside the box. Redo the DNA inside and out — literally."

That line especially caught Sara's attention. "Wait a minute. You actually said do the DNA on the inside of the shoes."

"Yeah. I remember Grissom had me do that for a case years ago. He said something didn't feel right to him, so he asked me to take DNA samples from inside a shoe," Greg said. "But Nick and Catherine said the case was done and the D.A.'s office thought the evidence was straight forward as if. The office wasn't interested in theories that might fit the narrative that our former coworker didn't commit murder."

"They didn't want to show favoritism."

"Yeah, well I call that politics over truly finding the truth," Greg said. "I know I'm the newbie there, but it was pretty obvious to me that once Grissom left, the D.A.'s office made a move to be more hands-on with CSI."

"That's what you meant by turned political really fast?"

"Yeah, you know how Catherine is. She doesn't mind smoozing, which isn't always a bad thing, I guess. Until… well, until it's a bad thing."

"You don't think she became a puppet for the office, do you?" Sara asked, knowing the thought made her sick to her stomach.

"No," Greg said adamantly. "But I think she weighed things at times, which… I don't know. She made it seem like it was part of the job, and I'm sure it is. I'm not in her shoes. I don't know what it's like to be a supervisor, much less a female supervisor in a male-dominated field."

Sara nodded her head. "I understand what you're saying. I'm guessing that's where you and she wouldn't see eye-to-eye sometimes."

"Yeah. It was," Greg said. "Nick said I couldn't understand how much Grissom hated Jake. That he saw the two of them fight before the murder."

"Yeah, but I told Nick that just because Gil threw a punch doesn't mean he could commit murder."

"Yeah, no shit," Greg said. "And from what Nick said, Jake got the best of Grissom, which is why it's kind of hard to understand how Grissom overpowered Jake in that park, especially since Jake had a knife on him."

"Wait," Sara said. "What knife? I don't remember reading that in the evidence report?"

"It was listed with Jake's personal belongings from the morgue," Greg said. "I went down there to find out. Jake had a bowie knife in a sheath around his ankle. If he was ready for a fight, why didn't he pull it out? And, no offense, if Grissom could get beat up in a parking lot, how did he manage to overpower Jake and crush his windpipe in the middle of the night without Jake pulling his knife?"

Sara shook her head sadly. "There was so much more to what happened."

"Yeah, but to know about it, there had to be a lot more digging, and … I know that there was political pressure from higher ups, but... "Greg's voice faded off. "I feel so guilty for not being there from the beginning. I feel so foolish mentioning this stuff like a Monday Morning Quarterback."

The two of them stared in different directions, ideas swirling in their head. Greg picked up his cup, forgetting he had already finished his coffee. "You know, I've taken my share of hits from all of them over the past year, but I thought being a team was tantamount to being a CSI, but I guess that was one of the things we took for granted when Grissom was there," Greg said sadly. "Over the past year, I questioned how effective I could be as a CSI, and I felt like even though I was in a room full of my colleagues, who kept saying that mantra, 'The evidence doesn't lie, Greg,' all I could think about was how they wouldn't concede an alternative, especially with someone they knew and knew well. At one point Warrick said, 'People change, man,' and I thought if Warrick could think that about Grissom, then things have truly changed for the worse."

The reaction of the team was as bad as Sara imagined, perhaps even worse. She willed herself not to cry, but knew a tear or two might slid down her cheek. "Umm… so Catherine told me that she told you guys to stay away from me."

"Yeah," Greg confirmed.

"And… you all did."

Greg took a deep breath. "Yeah. We did, and, I…" Unlike Sara, Greg didn't fight the tears he knew would stream down his face. "What kind of friend am I? I choose my job over my friend?"

While it hurt Sara deeply to hear him confirm what she knew, she reached across the table to grab Greg's hand. It was a gesture that shocked Greg. "Sara, what are you still doing sitting here with me?"

She squeezed his hand. "I don't need to pee yet, so I figured I could sit here a little longer."

Greg let out a chuckle. "I totally understand if you crush my hand with your awesome pregnancy mama strength. I deserve it."

"But Catherine said you were the hardest nut to crack," Sara said. "I can see why."

"It was a bad scene, Sar. We're yelling at each other, and I hit a nerve with her ego, and she unleashed," Greg said. "I told her I was quitting, and she got really down and dirty. Said without a recommendation from her where would I go, and getting a recommendation from a former supervisor on prison stationary wouldn't help me either. Then when she said I would have zero contact with you, it got even worse. I said things just so she would fire me, but she told me she would never fire me just out of spite."

"Damn Greg," Sara said.

"Don't feel sorry for me," Greg said. "Like you said, I was like every single one of them — I followed that order to stay away. I don't deserve sympathy from you or Grissom. I don't know why Nick finally did look inside the boots for DNA, but I'm glad he did. I just wish he did it from the beginning."

"Me, too," Sara said, losing interest in the items on the table. So much was going through her head that it made her a little nauseous. She wished Greg had been there in the beginning, too. If there was one thing her friend and her husband had in common it was a lack of interest in office politics.

"You OK?"

Greg's question perked Sara up a bit. "Yeah. I don't know. It's a lot, you know?"

"I know," Greg said. He could tell Sara was tired and overwhelmed, so he stood up. "You need me to drive you home?"

"No, it's OK," she said with a smile as they two of them walked out of the cafe towards their cars.

"Are things at work, any better for you?" Sara asked as they reached her car first.

"No. How about you?"

"Kind of. Karson's a good guy and I get along with Kahlil. Otherwise, I don't know," Sara said. "Are you really thinking of quitting?"

Greg looked down at his hands. "Even before all this stuff happened, going to that seminar gave me a lot to think about. I don't have to be a CSI to make a difference. But until I figure out what I need to do, I need the paycheck and insurance."

"I understand that," Sara said, getting into her car. She had the same feeling about her situation. With her pregnancy a reality and her husband out of work, she needed her paycheck and insurance more than ever. "Thanks for meeting me."

"Thanks for not giving up on me," Greg said sincerely. "Will you tell Grissom I'm sorry and I've been thinking about him?"

"I'll tell him."

"I told Catherine I'd rather have Grissom's recommendation on prison stationary than her's on any piece of paper."

"You're kidding," Sara said with a proud smile.

"Yeah, I did. I just can't figure out why the two of us still don't get along," Greg added sarcastically.

Sara shook her head and chuckled while she put her car in drive. Then a serious thought popped in her head. She immediately put the car in park again. "Hey, have you ever thought of transferring to the day shift?"


	57. Chapter 57

_A/N: This chapter written by co-writer JellybeanChiChi is just PERFECTION. Just pure unadulterated PERFECTION. :D_

* * *

CHAPTER 56

After meeting with Greg, Sara arrived to an eerily quiet home. Coming inside from parking her car in the garage, she put down her keys and handbag and called out, "Gil?"

When she didn't hear anything, she made her way to the living room and found no trace of anyone. Thinking maybe Gil and Daniel might be napping, she was ready to head upstairs when she heard a distant, muted yelp from Hank.

Standing inside the sliding glass door to the garden, the dog's excited yelping was more audible. Sara watched as Hank playfully bounded just inside the kiddie pool where Daniel was playing. Every time Hank got near Daniel, the boy would break out in uncontrollable giggles. Dressed in a t-shirt, a floppy hat, sunglasses and a swimming diaper, Daniel looked like he was having the time of his young life splashing the water and teasing Hank, his more-than-enthusiastic playmate.

The whole scenario was under the watchful eye of Grissom. With his back to the sliding glass, he sat just at the edge of the pool with his leg stretched out and touching the water. He too wore a floppy hat and t-shirt, along with his pair of shorts.

Sara privately enjoyed the scene laid out in front of her for a couple of minutes until the siren song of her giggling baby made her want to take a closer look.

Once she opened the sliding glass, Grissom immediately turned around and greeted his wife with a genuine smile. "You're home."

For some reason the combination of his smile and his greeting created happy butterflies in her stomach. Which after the afternoon she had, was a feeling most welcome.

She bent down and gave Grissom a kiss before pulling up a chair next to him. "So it looks like these guys are having fun," Sara said, taking out her cellphone and recording Hank and Daniel's antics.

"It's been a lot of fun watching them," Grissom said as he witnessed Daniel touch Hank's tail, who in retaliation licked Daniel's face causing the boy to fall flat on his butt. Once back in the water, Daniel flapped his arms and legs and laughed hysterically.

"I could listen to that laugh all day," Sara said. "You think falling down like that hurts his butt?"

"Honey, he's got so much cushion with that water-filled diaper I really don't think he feels a thing," Grissom said.

The parents sat and watched the playmates for another 15 minutes before taking Daniel out of the water. "I'll handle Hank and clean out the pool if you take Daniel upstairs for a shower," Sara said after bending down to pick up Daniel and hand him to daddy. "Strip him down out here before you wrap him in the towel."

"Yes, dear."

Naked, but still wearing his hat, Daniel felt a little chill and welcomed wearing his fluffy towel robe.

"OK, buddy," Grissom said, carrying Daniel in his arms. "Let's head upstairs."

But before they went back inside, Sara stopped them. "Wait. Let me get a photo of you two."

She smiled at the photo of daddy and son wearing matching hats that would now be her new home screen background.

* * *

Dinner was a quiet, but quaint affair. After a big afternoon, Daniel couldn't muster a protest to go down for the evening. After he fell asleep, Grissom took the slow sojourn up the stairs to Daniel's room.

Sara had stayed downstairs and flipped through the TV channels. After 15 minutes Grissom still hadn't headed back downstairs, making Sara wonder whether Daniel had woken up and was giving Grissom fits. She turned off the television and went upstairs.

When she got to the door of the room, she saw Grissom hunched over the crib tenderly stroking Daniel's hair. She entered and came behind him, stroking Grissom's arm in an equally tender fashion. "Did he wake up?"

"No," he replied in a whisper. "He hasn't stirred at all."

Sara moved away and sat on the twin bed in the room and continued to watch her husband. He was so focused on Daniel, she wondered if he even knew she was in the room. "Hon?"

"Yeah?"

She chuckled because while he quickly answered the question, he was still so engrossed, he never turned around. "So, I had quite the day at work."

"I figured that's why you had to come home later. I hope it wasn't too stressful."

Sara let out a sigh. "I'm not sure if stressful is the right word."

The sigh and the sound of her voice caused Grissom to break away from the crib. He came to sit by Sara. "What happened? Are you alright?"

"Catherine came to visit me this afternoon. She came by the lab to see me because of a visit you had with her." Sara could feel Grissom tense up at the comment.

"Did she upset you?" His voice held an air of both concern and protection. "Because you don't deserve to have any anger directed towards you."

Sara sat closer to Grissom so that their thighs were touching. "Actually, she was anything but upset. She was contrite. She apologized to me."

Grissom let out a breath and looked down to see Sara opening her hand so that he would hold it. He did and squeezed it lovingly. "Well, good," he said in a soft voice that understated his wealth of emotions. "It was the least she could do."

"She didn't tell me everything you talked about, but said the crux of it was you wanted to know why the team abandoned me."

"Yeah." Again his voice was soft but clearly laced with sadness.

"She told the guys to stay away."

"Yeah. To save their reputations," Grissom said. "But I was the poison, not you. They shouldn't have stayed away from you."

Hearing him call himself poison angered and saddened Sara. "You're not poison, Gil. Please don't think that."

"That's how they viewed me."

"Well, they were wrong." Sara said, squeezing his hand again for support. "The conversation with Catherine must have been awful," Sara garnered nothing but a noncommittal shrug from her husband. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It was… difficult… she said things … I asked her questions and pushed. She gave me answers … that were difficult to hear," Grissom said, letting go of her hand and pressing his own palm against his forehead. "It's … I guess I don't want to rehash it right now."

"OK, I understand," Sara said.

They sat quietly next to one another. Grissom's attention returned to his hands set upon his lap. He fiddled with the ring upon his finger until he felt her her lips plant chaste kisses upon his nape. He brought his head up to face her.

"You really went to bat for me," Sara said. "I can only imagine the things she said to you, but you still … went there. For me. Thank you, Gil."

Drawing her hand up to caress his cheek, she pulled closer to kiss his lips. She silently urged him to deepen the kiss, which he did until he heard the sounds of a fidgeting baby.

He pulled back and she smiled before the two of them slowly stood up from the bed. Daniel's groggy eyes were beginning to open, but the lull of his father's humming and gentle touch put him right back to sleep.

"Catherine mentioned she saw Daniel," Sara said in a soft voice, her arms caressing Grissom's arm as she did when she first entered the room. "She was surprised you offered the invitation for her to see him. I'm not so sure I would have been that kind if I was in your place, Gil."

"It wasn't completely altruistic on my part," he said in a whisper. Satisfied Daniel was again asleep, he stood up straight and faced his wife. "The first thing she assumed was that I wanted my job back — any job back — at the lab. Not that I would be welcomed back. She said I tarnished the lab, not just during the murder but when everything came out about the two of us."

Sara closed her eyes, willing herself not to interject angry emotion in her voice. "She was wrong. You never tarnished anything. Did she really say that to you? That you tarnished the lab?"

"Yes, she did," Grissom said. "Catherine thought I regretted leaving. I told her that wasn't the case, and I think I wanted to prove that to her. Show her how Daniel was never and could never be a mistake or a regret. And neither is the home I have built with you. I think that's why I invited her to see Daniel. To give her indisputable evidence of that fact."

They looked in each other's eyes and Sara hoped Grissom would see the love and pride she had for him. He stood toe-to-toe with a peer of two decades to say she was wrong. And he did it for his family.

While Grissom bathed in the love of Sara's gaze, he returned his attention to Daniel for a moment. He bent down to place a kiss on the boy's mop of hair. "He looks so sweet…"

Sara smiled and kissed the top of Grissom's shoulder. "Yeah, he can have his moments."

"I'm glad I can witness those moments again," he said, never taking his eyes off his son. "There was a moment… in that… warehouse… I told Rory… I told him to go ahead and kill me."

The unexpected turn of conversation created anxiety and sadness within Sara's soul. But the fact that he brought it up let her know he needed to give voice to his thoughts. She wrapped her arms around his waist from the side and kissed his shoulder again.

Grissom's hands never left the top of the crib, but he didn't tense in her embrace. "He almost beat me and choked me to death… I was scared… But I guess I owe him … something… for not doing as I said. … I would have missed … all of this." After a moment he turned to face her and caressed the swell of her belly. "And what's to come."

"You owe Rory nothing. You survived because you're a strong, noble man." Feeling her own tears stream down her face, Sara reached up to wipe a stray tear from Grissom's eye. "Sometimes I think it's hard to believe we are where we are after all we've been through, but our life together is something I will always fight for and treasure, and you've shown you will too. I've loved you for a long time, Gil Grissom. But, somehow, you make me love you more and more."

There was no urging for Grissom to deepen the kiss Sara instigated, as he was just as much in the moment as she was. They had not shared such passion since that short moment in his rehab room, and while Sara was a willing participant, she pulled away.

"I did it again, didn't I?" Grissom said. "I'm sorry…"

"Shut up, you dork," Sara said with a wide and ferally passionate smile. "Let's move to the bedroom. I don't want to wake the 'bingmeister.'"

She kissed him decisively before grasping his hand and ushering him out of Daniel's room. She knew despite the heat of his stare, the feel of his hardness, he still felt unsure about making love. So, once inside the bedroom, she began to unbutton Grissom's short-sleeved shirt. "This is about us. I want to be with you."

"Sara, I do too, but… how can you say that? When I've been to prison, ruined your career?"

His shirt spread open, Sara laid her hands upon his chest. She closed her eyes feeling his chest move with every breath he took. She then lifted her blouse from over her head. Standing in her bra, she leaned into him kissing each pec before placing her ear flush against his breast. "I miss your heartbeat. I miss the feel of you." She brought her head up, swiped the shirt away from his shoulders so that it fell to the floor and then removed her bra.

They stood before each other flushed, glowing and topless.

"I want to be with you because I'm proud of who you are," she said taking a step towards him so their naked chests touched. "I cherish you. And I need you."

"Oh Sara." Desperately trying to capture every ounce of love and devotion he had for the woman in front of him, Grissom cradled Sara's face before devouring her, showering her with physical love. He removed her remaining article of clothing, each time giving voice to his thoughts of great emotion: "You amaze me," he said as he removed her shoes. "You inspire me," he said as he slid off her slacks. Guiding her to lift each leg to remove her underwear, he said, "I desire you. My wife. My love. My heart. My soul," in a voice deeper than she had heard in far too long.

Staring at his wife naked and wanton, Grissom asked, "May I touch you?" After receiving a firm "yes," he allowed his hands and mouth to touch and caress her. A gift he felt he had no right to receive thanks to his failings, yet a gift she offered without hesitation. He began with her nape, kissing the spot just below her ear that he knew made her heart race.

Hearing her moan set his own heart racing. He quickly moved down her body gently kneading her breast before taking one nipple into his mouth. The scream from Sara's mouth surprised even her. But how could she not scream in desire from his touch after being apart from the man she loved for so long. As he continued to lavish attention upon one breast then the other, Sara reached down and quickly undid the button and zipper on his cargo shorts. As she pushed down both his shorts and his boxers she could feel one of his hands slide down her stomach to her apex. Her body quickly responded to his fingers as they massaged her. "Oh God, Gil," she screamed. "Let me touch you."

Grissom stepped out of his pants and embraced Sara again. His lips found hers while his hands cupped her ass. Sara snaked her hand between their bodies so that she could grab his engorged member. Once she did, it was Grissom who let out a long moan. "Sara, I … Oh, it's been so long."

To hear him so aroused, so needy made Sara even more brazen and wanton. "God I miss your cock," she said as she pumped him the way he loved it. Just as the combination of his voice and touch affected her, Sara knew the effect of her voice and touch had on him. He loved being asked sensual questions. "I love how your cock feels in my hands. I missed it so much. Did you miss, it baby?"

"Oh God, yes," he said, his eyes darkened.

She pushed him forward to sit on the edge of the bed. She stood in front of him and used her hands to tease her breasts. She saw how Grissom's eyes followed whatever path her hands traced, so she dipped them lower until she could touch herself between her legs. "What about my lips, Gil?"

"I love your lips."

"I love putting my lips on your cock, smelling you, tasting you." She took a step forward, causing him to spread his legs so she could stand between them. "Did you miss my lips?"

"God yes."

He knew she would drop to her knees, but before she could, he put his hands firmly on her ass and pressed her to his mouth. It wasn't just the lips on her face he missed. He suckled her, drinking the juices that flowed effortlessly from her. He dragged his tongue along her clit making her scream in ecstasy.

She pulled away from him and quickly dropped to her knees. She engulfed him deep into her mouth, and after sucking him and stroking him for a short time, she could tell he was close. And while she could enjoy having him cum in her mouth, she knew they both needed to be joined intimately through penetration.

When Sara stood back up and realized she was breathing as hard as Grissom was. They offered each other wobbly smiles. It would seem even as she pleasured him, he was holding back for the same reason she drew away.

"I want to be inside you, Sara."

"I want that too, Gil."

Although normally they would have drew back the covers and gotten into bed, Grissom's knee injury was still an unspoken issue. Taking Sara's hand into his own, he guided her slowly towards him. She lowered herself onto his lap and working together, they guided him inside her. He slipped easily into her and the moment it happened, they both clutched at each other and savored the feeling of being of one body once more.

Then Sara took the lead bucking up and down upon him. Grissom matched her rhythm as he thrusted in time with her. Her breasts bounced with every movement until Grissom pushed her closer and closer against his chest. She had already blanketed and enveloped him emotionally and spiritually with her undying love, and now all Grissom wanted to do was be cocooned physically by Sara.

For Sara, the feeling of her husband deeply and fully sheathed inside her slowly erased the sadness that consumed her while they were apart. While she feared for his health and his life.

Despite wanting to stay as they were, neither Sara nor Grissom could hold off the climax that awaited them. The room filled with their moaning, their words of devotion, and the sounds of skin against skin.

"Honey… I!"

"Yes, baby, yes!"

Grissom burst inside Sara. The warmth of the physical manifestation of his love caused Sara to continue to buck wildly until she arched her back and screamed Gil's name as he held on to her for dear life.

Working to catch her breath, Sara could feel moisture upon her skin. From her sex, from the sweat dripping down her back and from the tears sliding down her cheeks. The last three months of her life have been a marathon of hurdles, but now she was in the strong, loving arms of the man she loved.


	58. Chapter 58

_A/N: Many apologies from myself and Jellybean, for the delay in posting. Also many many thanks for your patience during the long wait. We do plan on completing this story, and won't leave you all hanging. Heartfelt thanks for all your reviews, they mean so much. To the "Guest" review who asked if Jellybean was my alter ego, I can't answer you privately since your PM feature is blocked or you're not signed in. Jellybean is my beta and also a co-writer, who has written many great stories of her own. Check out her work, and i highly recommend,_ In the Dark.

 _This chapter is written by co-writer, JellybeanChiChi - another amazing writing my friend :)_

* * *

Chapter 57

After they made love for the first time in some three months, Grissom and Sara sought sanctuary with one another under the covers of their bed.

They touched, stroked and kissed while cocooned in each other's arms. Sara fell asleep with Grissom gently stroking her arm. He had nodded off after a while but awoke from a nightmare reliving Rory's torture. Drifting off to slumber again, he awoke time and again. He relived his physical fight with Tait Darrow and his verbal fight with Catherine. It was the lifeless face of Jake Sullivan that burned in his brain when he became startled awake.

He extracted himself from Sara's loving arms to retreat to the bathroom. He returned to the bed to see Sara rolled over to her side of the bed. With a smile he gently placed a kiss on her shoulder then took residence on his side of the bed.

But his mind still wouldn't shut off. At one point he stared at the digital clock on his night stand. Trying to take his mind off the visceral images of his dreams, he spent a few minutes staring intently at the numbers and the constant blink of the colon that marked the seconds.

Bored with the clock, he slowly turned around. To his surprise, Sara was staring at him. "I thought you were asleep."

"I was," Sara said, leaning over to give him a kiss. "Why aren't you asleep?"

"Just thinking about things."

Knowing him as well as she did, she understood what he wasn't saying. He probably woke from a nightmare and now his mind was churning a mile a minute. "If you need to talk, I'm happy to listen."

Grissom smiled, somewhat sadly. "I know. But … it's late. You should be asleep."

"It's not late, Gil. We just went to bed pretty early," Sara said as she sidled closer to him and stroked parts of his body. "We had important matters to tend to."

Grissom chuckled. "Very important and pressing."

Sara moaned and initiated a kiss. She rolled on top of him, but stopped kissing when her stomach started grumbling. Instead of being disappointed, Grissom chucked again and looked at the clock. "10 o'clock on the dot. Second trimester hunger pains strike again."

"Shh," Sara said as she put her finger against his mouth. "Remember. We had pressing needs to deal with?"

"Uh huh," Grissom said. "Not that I am not enjoying this, but are you saying you wouldn't rather have peanut butter and strawberry preserves on toasted multi-grain bread cut in triangles?"

"Are you not getting that I'm hungry for something else?" Sara said.

Grissom stroked her arms and urged her to lean forward. They kissed again until she pulled back. "Do we have any cottage cheese?"

"Umm… I'm not sure…"

Sara sat up. "Peaches? Do we have any? Even canned peaches? You know what? Never mind. Who needs peaches, right?"

She leaned back down, but Grissom lovingly patted her legs that straddled his torso. "Let's go, mama. Find you some cream cheese."

"Not cream cheese, cottage cheese," Sara said as she extracted herself from her husband and then quickly retreated to the bathroom bringing back his and her bathrobes.

"I apologize. Cottage cheese," he replied as he put on his robe.

They left the room quietly to go downstairs to the kitchen. As Sara took a quick pace down the stairs she stopped half way and looked up at her husband. Looking at him, all she could think about was how fortunate he was around to join her in the kitchen for a late snack and how much she loved him.

That and, thanks to him, cottage cheese.

* * *

Although Sara was willing to make her own snack, Grissom had her sit down so he could make her sandwiches — triangle ones with peanut butter and preserves; square ones with cottage cheese and preserves.

Grissom noticed how Sara watched him intently. "Am I not applying enough ingredients?"

"You're doing fine," Sara said. "I just realized I didn't tell you why I was late this afternoon."

"You got the visit from Catherine," Grissom said.

"I did, but that was before shift ended," Sara said before recalling her coffee klatch with Greg. She noticed the change in her husband's demeanor as she spoke. "Gil? Are you OK with me talking with Greg?"

Grissom rounded the corner of the kitchen counter and put a plate of goodies in front of Sara. "Yes. Of course," he said. "Do you want something to drink?"

"I'll get it," Sara said as she stood up. "Sit down with me while I eat."

This time it was Grissom's turn to watch Sara, who took out the milk jug and water pitcher, along with chocolate syrup. She talked about her reunion with Greg as she poured a glass of water for herself and a glass of chocolate milk for Grissom. Before she sat down, she grabbed the jar of peanut butter and a spoon for him as well. There were times, he served himself a spoonful of the spread as she ate her sandwiches.

But he didn't this time. Instead he listened intently to her as she recalled the sadness she and Greg had suffered and how their friendship was easily renewed through their short meeting. She shared what Greg had said about the lab and how he felt regret for not working on Grissom's case from the beginning.

When she was done talking, Sara diverted her attention back to her snacks. Enjoying each sandwich she smiled when she caught Grissom's eye, but noticed he seemed to be sadly reflecting. "Gil, are you upset that I spoke with Greg?"

"No," Grissom said with a hint of surprise.

"You sure?"

"Sara, you need support, and while I wish Greg had said these things to you a couple of months ago, I'm glad you two reconnected. You needed that. You deserve that."

She reached across the table to grab his hand. "Thank you."

Grissom offered her a small, subdued smile. He looked down at her hand caressing his hand. "Do you think Greg was telling the truth when he said he didn't think I did it?" He pulled his head up to look her in the eye. "I mean, maybe he said that to make you feel better."

"Greg wouldn't do that," Sara said. "He looked sincere, Gil. He believed you were innocent, just like I did and Wilbur. Even Bowden realized after he investigated. I'm sure there were many people at the lab who believed in your innocence just like Greg. Didn't you say Brass said he didn't believe the charges either?"

"He could have said that to make me feel better."

Sara gave his hand a squeeze before letting go. Knowing the path her husband was travelling, she tried to change the subject. "Did I put too much chocolate syrup in your milk?"

"Oh, I haven't tried it," Grissom said before taking a sip. "No. It's good. Thank you. I haven't had chocolate milk in a while."

"Probably not since I was pregnant with Daniel," Sara said, finishing off her last sandwich. "It was your second trimester snack."

Grissom nodded with a smile but Sara could still tell his mind was miles away. She took her plate to the sink and returned to the table.

"I think I'll leave the cottage cheese for breakfast," Sara said. "I haven't checked if we have peaches, though…"

"I'm not so sure."

"That we have peaches?"

"That there were others who thought I was innocent," Grissom said catching the look of dissent on his wife's face. "Sara, you have to have thought of that. I know how hard it was for you. People weren't treating you like a pariah because they thought I didn't kill Jake."

"Gil, I'm not going to say that I wasn't treated differently, but there were people who witnessed how aggressive Jake was towards me."

"And I'm sure that's another reason that would lead people to think of my guilt," Grissom said. "I'm sure it was no secret how I felt about him. I'm sure that's one reason Nick was able to believe I killed him. When he saw us at the restaurant..."

Grissom paused his thought, and Sara wished he didn't. She knew at one point Jake had approached Grissom in the bathroom of a restaurant where they had lunch together. Nick told Sara that Grissom looked livid, like he could seriously hurt Jake. And Sara always wondered if that was true or an embellishment.

From the look on her husband's face and the timbre of his voice, she knew it was not an embellishment.

"What did he say to you, Gil? What did Jake say that angered you so much?"

"It was crude. You don't want to know."

"Actually I do," Sara said. "I know how crude Jake was. I witnessed it before. I dated him, remember?"

"I doubt he ever said the things to you that he said to me," Grissom said. "I know he was baiting me, and it just got more and more vulgar, and I should have just walked away from him before he escalated as much as he did. Every time I tried to push him out of the way..."

"He pushed back. Just because he was baiting you doesn't mean you were to blame for his behaviour," Sara said. "Honey, he didn't deserve to die, but don't think he was wholly innocent either."

"What do you mean?"

Sara took a deep breath and reached for Grissom's hand. "Do you know why they came to the conclusion that Jake was in the park that night?"

Grissom shook his head. "I think it was something about a phone call that he got."

Sara nodded. "From a burner phone. Something they assumed you purchased. The theory was Jake was going to meet you."

"Yeah. But, even so, how can you say he wasn't wholly innocent?"

"Greg told me something I didn't know. The morgue recorded Jake's possessions, and it included a large bowie knife that was in a sheaf around his ankle," Sara said. "I know Jake. He wouldn't have just worn that for show."

Grissom was left conflicted by the information. "But… you don't know that Sara."

"No, but I know that you were not the one who called him, you were never the one looking for a fight. He instigated everything. Please don't blame yourself for his death, Gil."

Grissom let go of Sara's hand and unconsciously took a sip of his chocolate milk. The taste caught him off guard. "I almost wish there was whiskey in this."

Sara offered a sad smile. "I can get you some."

"No," he said with a shake of his head. "Do you really want to know what he said?"

"It's weighing on you, Gil. I'll be OK. I can handle what he said. I want to help."

He took a long sigh and began to tap the fingers of his right hand on the tabletop. Sara was resigned to the fact he would stay silent, which was his prerogative. She couldn't blame him. She was sure it was painful to think about, despite it eating him up inside. But at the very least maybe it would be something he could talk about during a therapy session.

"You don't want to talk about it with me, do you?"

"No. I don't think I do, sweetheart."

"It's OK. I understand," Sara said as she stood up. "How about we go back to bed?"

A part of him didn't want to go back to bed. Maybe he should journal his thoughts, because there were just so many swirling in his head. But as he looked up at Sara, whose hand stretched out for his, he worked to quiet those thoughts.

He stood up and took her hand. He could always journal in the morning.


	59. Chapter 59

_A/N: Another riveting chapter written by co-author, JellybeanChiChi. Which is apt, as tomorrow is the 1st Anniversary of when we first started posting this story. It's certainly grown, and become something much better than I ever imagined. A lot of that credit is down to Jellybean, who is not just an awesome beta , but an amazing writer on her own right. Who I'm proud to call my friend._

* * *

Chapter 58

Edmund Flanagan, a junior assistant district attorney, never enjoyed having meetings at the prison. It's not that he feared anything or tried to put on airs, it was just unpleasant being in that environment. The county lock-up facility carried similar characteristics of larger prisons — high fences topped with razor-sharp barbed wire; security checks at various points inside and outside the prison; one could literally smell the amount of testosterone and tension floating in the air.

But going to the county lockup was necessary in his job and since he was tasked with dealing with the case of State of Nevada vs. Patrick Davies, he was arrived at the prison to meet the former CSI and his own attorney.

Yet when he went to park his car he saw a man in a suit speaking on a cell phone and the man looked oddly familiar. Flanagan parked his car and kept an eye on the man. Before exiting the car he called his office. "Hey, Nicole, can you patch me through to Mr. Sayers office? … Is that right. Last minute? … Interesting. No word where?… I thought you knew everything, Nicole. Ha ha. … No, I will see you when I get back to the office."

He ended the call, smirking at himself at the jabs Nicole — one of the secretaries — and he could volley at one another. Once parked, he grabbed his portfolio case and got out of his car. He kept his eyes forward as he pushed the lock on his key fob and walked towards the man, who had just ended his own phone call. He turned around and smiled at Flanagan.

"Lucky Eddie," Ladd Sayers said, using a moniker Sayers knew Flanagan never appreciated. "You really like to cut the time short, don't you?"

"Mr. Sayers," Flanagan said professionally. "I wasn't expecting to see you here. Working a case?"

"Same as you," Sayers said. "Got knowledge of a call from Davies' lawyer…"

"Yes, he was trying to arrange a meeting with me," Flanagan quickly interjected.

"Yeah, well, you know how the chain of command goes," Sayers said. "I'm curious what Davies' lawyer has to say."

"And I was going to let you know exactly what happened," Flanagan said. "Especially if there is a hint of involvement of that Grissom guy you are so fond to implicate."

"Watch how you talk to me, Junior D.A.," Sayers said. "You want to waste some more time losing a pissing match for me or get to doing the job we're paid to do?"

Without another word, the two lawyers went through the necessary screenings to enter the lock-up facility. When a guard opened up the room where Davies and his lawyer sat, Sayers prompted Flanagan to enter first.

"Edmund Flanagan from the prosecutor's office and this is…"

"ADA Ladd Sayers," the defense lawyer said as he stood up. "Thank you for agreeing to meet us. I'm Carl Miller attorney for Mr. Davies."

The two prosecutors sat down across from Miller and Davies, who looked stone faced with his gaze seemingly upon something on the wall behind the two men.

"You called me for this meeting, Mr. Miller, so what is it you want to discuss?" Flanagan said.

"Mr. Davies clarified events on the evening that Mr. Jake Sullivan died and in light of his statements to me, I believe our two sides should discuss a plea arrangement."

"Our office isn't interested in a plea arrangement for first-degree murder," Flanagan said. "We would just assume go to trial."

"Sullivan's death was not first-degree murder," Miller said. "It was self-defense."

"Come on counselor," Flanagan said. "It's not self-defense when the victim Davies intended to kill fights back."

"Therein lies the fallacy of your argument," Miller said. "Mr. Davies never met Mr. Sullivan in that park with the intent of murder."

"Oh, so he invited him there just to chat?" asked Flanagan. "Sullivan was lured to the park via text messages from a burner phone sent by his murderer."

"Who you were originally convinced was Gilbert Grissom," Miller said.

"That is inconsequential," Flanagan retorted. "We now know it was Mr. Davies."

"Know?" Miller said without a hint of sarcasm. "It is merely another assumption, Mr. Flanagan and one based on the word – that might be too strong - based on the assumption offered to your office by the former prison guard who was undoubtedly involved in Rory Dunbar's master plan. A man who you know for a fact was at the scene of the bus transfer accident and a man who was found in the hotel room with Dunbar's dead, bleeding body. That is the man who you are basing your assumption about a text from a burner phone that has not only never been found in my client's possession but also has not been found period."

Flanagan took a quick glance in Davies' direction, whose gaze had not moved one iota since he and Sayers entered the room. "You mentioned your client offered clarification. I'm willing to listen to this clarification, but cannot guarantee it will change the course of the prosecution. We know that there are considerable amounts of money that Davies garnered from Rory Dunbar through their mutual associate, David Fromansky."

Miller offered a professional nod towards Flanagan, but the younger lawyer could tell the defense attorney's glance toward Sayers made it look as if he was addressing the older ADA.

"Mr. Davies does not deny knowing Mr. Fromansky. They were friends," Miller said. "And it is true that Mr. Davies did secure funds that were being transferred back and forth between Dunbar and Fromansky. They were not payments but middleman management of funds from one to another."

"So you're saying he laundered the money," Flanagan said.

"He believed he was helping Fromansky, his friend, to hide funds from his ex-wife," Miller said.

"OK, let's not get into the minutiae of all this," Sayers piped up after staying silent for so long. "Get to the night Sullivan died."

"Mr. Davies received a call from Fromansky stating he had sent a text to Sullivan from the burner phone to meet him in the park. Fromansky wanted backup from Davies and told him to be there in about an hour," Miller explained. "Instead, Davies went right away to the park to warn Sullivan."

"Why would he do that?" Flanagan asked.

"The two had become friends," Miller said. "That is something your CSI's discovered in the investigation. They became drinking buddies, and Davies couldn't stand idly by knowing the plot to kill Sullivan."

"And yet he still ended up dead," Flanagan said.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Sullivan was furious with Mr. Davies as he tried to explain what was happening," Miller said. "Mr. Sullivan charged at Mr. Davies, who had no choice but defend himself. A scuffle ensued and unfortunately, Mr. Sullivan succumbed to injuries."

"Wait a minute," Flanagan said. "If Mr. Davies here didn't go there to kill him, why was he wearing Gil Grissom's shoes?"

"Fromansky arrived on the scene and found Davies and Sullivan fighting. When he realized Sullivan was dead, he told Davies to wear the shoes and put them against Sullivan's neck to ensure there would be evidence on Sullivan and evidence on the shoes," Miller said. "We suspect that was the reason he asked Davies to come at all. To wear the shoes and create the evidence of Grissom being there."

"And you're saying that Fromansky was the owner of the burner phone and he called Davies that evening," Flanagan said. "Unfortunately, I don't remember seeing anything in Mr. Davies' call logs that back up that claim."

"I have lots of different phone logs you haven't seen."

Patrick Davies' voice came out of nowhere. He gave a quick glance in Flanagan's direction, then stared at Sayers. "A lot of interesting numbers on certain phone logs."

The room became silent once more. Sayers tapped his fingers against the table and turned to his colleague. "Mr. Flanagan, I'd like to speak with Mr. Miller and his client privately."

He had a feeling something was fishy from the get-go, and the senior attorney's request only cemented that feeling. Just the fact the attorney called him Mr. Flanagan instead of Eddie gave him pause. Morally he should have pushed, but Edmund Flanagan could recognize a losing battle when it came to working with Ladd Sayers.

So the younger attorney stood up, went to the door and knocked for the guard to open it. He didn't say anything as he left the room and waited in the outer corridor.

Some 20 minutes later, he noticed Davies and Miller sharing a word before the shackled prisoner was led back to the cell block. Miller past Flanagan who stayed seated. The defense lawyer slowed his gait to offer Flanagan a nod and a short message. "Sayers wants you back in there."

Unamused that a defense attorney relegated him to reenter a room where his case was discussed, Flanagan's face was red and he worked to taper his anger. "What's going on?"

"Sit down," Sayers said with an air of confidence. "Settled the case for you."

"I don't remember asking you to do that."

"Doesn't matter," Sayers said. "This case is not the slam dunk it originally was. It was time to cut our losses and get some jail time for him."

"That's all well and good, but you are not in charge of the case, I am."

"Second time today I tell you to watch your tone."

"All due respect, Mr. Sayers, I think I have the right to point out the obvious when I was asked to leave the room and a deal was made without my knowledge or consent," Flanagan said. "That's how back door deals are made, and I'm not fond of that."

"OK, let's calm down," Sayers said. "Honestly, Eddie, I was looking out for you. You don't want to take this case to trial. It would have unraveled and we would get nothing. The media would have a field day for you. Settling this out of court is the smart move."

"His story about how the death occurred doesn't even jive with the coroner's report."

"Jurors won't get that. There's just not enough evidence."

Unsatisfied but not willing to push the argument further, Flanagan asked, "What did you offer?"

"Two to five for reckless endangerment."

Flanagan's eyes became wide. "For premeditated murder for hire? He'll be out in a year."

"Maybe. Maybe not. But you have to add into the fact that he is a CSI and a murder against him could open a can of worms for the department."

Flanagan sat back in his chair, unimpressed by the show his boss was offering. Flanagan knew Davies was a low level CSI, and a murder trial would not be opening up a can of worms. Not like, say, if the defendant was the former supervisor of the night shift at CSI, which Sayers was salivating to try.

But again, Flanagan could read a lost cause when he saw it. "Fine. But my name isn't going on this. You made the deal, so it should have your signature and you should be the one arguing it to the D.A."

"The D.A. assigned you this case, Eddie. It should have your signature."

"I'll take the consequences," Flanagan said. "Unless there's a pressing, underlying reason you don't want your name on the papers."

They locked stares and were silent for perhaps 15 seconds. Sayers thought the younger man would concede but he didn't. "Fine. I have no problem signing these papers, because, mark my words, the sooner we close this case and put the death of Jake Sullivan behind us, the better."

* * *

"It seems like you're having a real tough time of putting Jake Sullivan's death behind you."

Oscar Jimenez said those words to Gil Grissom as the two sat in separate chairs in Jimenez's counseling office. Grissom had recalled his nightmares, especially ones where he feels he is personally witnessing Jake Sullivan's death.

"After you have these nightmares, how often do you think your mind goes back to thinking about Jake?" Jimenez asked.

Grissom shrugged and kept his attention on his hands positioned in his lap. "It's hard to say. It's just that… I know that I wasn't there to see him killed. I know physically I have nothing to do with his death…"

"Yeah," Jimenez said, using active listening to prompt Grissom to continue. "It wasn't you who killed Jake or put him in that position."

"But didn't I?"

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe… I did put him in that position," Grissom said. "I mean, I didn't do anything physically to Tyler Darrow that put him behind bars, but the family still blamed me for his imprisonment and his death. And, I suppose, I've been questioning… whether they are right."

Grissom poked his head up to see Jimenez looking at him with an intense face, but one that also revealed some compassion.

"And if they were right about me somehow… attributing to Tyler's death, maybe I did the same thing in Jake's case," Grissom continued.

"OK, I get your logic, man," Jimenez said. "I get it."

"You think it's correct?"

"I don't, but I'm a complete outsider who is able to have an opinion on this, pat your back and then go home and have a sandwich," Jimenez said, gaining a soft snort from Grissom. "You know what I'm saying here? My opinion doesn't mean shit if it's weighing on you so much that you can't sleep and can't get your mind from running circles around it."

"Well, I'm not certain how to put this behind me," Grissom said, frustration and sadness in his voice. "I mean talking about it seems to be meaningless and it's not like I can go back and ask for forgiveness from Darrow's family, and how the hell would Jake's family react if I, his former girlfriend's husband and former suspect in his murder, contacted them to say, 'I'm sorry.' It would be shallow and hollow, I'm sure."

Grissom rubbed his face and sighed. He stood up to stem the anxiety he felt.

"There is something you can do and it does involve forgiveness."

Jimenez's words prompted Grissom to turn around. "You really expect me to get in contact with those families?"

"No. That's not the forgiveness I'm talking about. What I'm talking about is much harder."

"What are you talking about?"

"Come on. Sit down," Jimenez asked kindly. Once Grissom was seated, Jimenez pulled his chair closer to him. "I'm talking about you. You need to forgive yourself."

The incredulous look on Grissom's face spoke volumes as he seemed to be at a loss for words.

"I know," Jimenez said, obviously familiar with the look. "Here you are thinking over and over about your role and your responsibility in this situation, and here I am saying you need to think about forgiving yourself. Might seem a little…"

"Selfish," Grissom said, finishing Jimenez' statement.

Again, Jimenez didn't act surprised at that statement. He'd heard it before from others in law enforcement who can't let go of the notion that someone else's death was out of their control. "Looking for forgiveness is not easy. It requires a true evaluation of a situation that brings up a lot of memories and realizations. But that's what I need you to do."

"Fine. I forgive myself."

"Bullshit," Jimenez said with a smile. "It ain't gonna be that easy, dog."

"Well, I'm not so sure it's going to get farther than that."

"I do," Jimenez said. "How do you feel about attending a group meeting. Totally confidential. Me and a few more guys dealing with issues that need airing out. Interested?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"You always have a choice. That's what life is all about, isn't it?"

Grissom nodded.

"But there is a catch?"

"What?" Grissom asked.

"A letter. To yourself. Asking for forgiveness."

Grissom sighed. So many choices in life seem to come with a hard cost.


	60. Chapter 60

_A/N:_ _Dear readers, I'm sorry for the delay in this. There was all kinds of stuff going down and then the mojo left. But we hope to get this wrapped up soon. Take care and thanks for reading._ _Co-writer JellybeanChiChi did another excellent job on this chapter._

* * *

CHAPTER 59

Sitting in his study, Grissom shifted in his seat. His movement caused Hank to stand up and nudge at Grissom's good knee.

Grinning at his dog, Grissom put his pen and journal upon his lap and stroked Hank's fur. Ever since Grissom returned home from his last stay in the hospital, Hank kept a careful eye on his master. He knew the dog kept an eye on him, a bit worried about his master. "I'm fine, buddy. Just trying to get comfortable."

Although comforted by the sound of Grissom's voice, the dog moved closer to him and sat at attention at his feet.

"What's a matter, Hank?" Grissom asked with a smile. "I'm fine. Really."

Shifting towards the edge of his seat, Grissom lovingly stroked his loyal companion. "You know, I don't plan on taking another header down the stairs. So don't you worry about that OK?"

Hank's gaze never left Grissom. "It was a stupid move on my part, wasn't it boy? If I could have taken back that day, trust me I would."

The dog let out a sigh and relaxed under Grissom's touch while listening to his introspective voice. "That certainly wouldn't be the only day I'd take back. There's a helluva a lot of days. A helluva a lot."

Lost in his thoughts and the rhythm of petting his dog, Grissom jumped slightly when Hank licked his hand and then moved sit at his master's feet. Grissom looked down at the journal sitting on his lap. He picked it back up and sighed as he read the few sentences jotted down there.

"It's too difficult to let go of responsibility when you see how the damage has affected you and the ones you love. My actions from decades ago led to a domino effect of actions that affected my here and now. For the past few months 'If I had only' has been a mantra I continually hear. I'm not sure I deserve to let that mantra go."

Holding the pen in his hand, he thought about continuing to write something else, but drew his pen back. The exercise given to him by Oscar, his counselor in PTSD, proved to be more difficult than Grissom imagined.

Although his deadline to finish his exercise loomed in a few hours, Grissom had never been more happy to hear a knock on the partially closed door of the den. The noise made Hank rise up off Grissom's feet.

"Gil," Sara said on the other side of the door. "You busy? Can I come in?"

Grissom had already stood up when he heard the knock and opened the door wider for Sara, who had Daniel in tow. "Everything OK?"

"Yeah, I just didn't want to disturb you," Sara said, putting Daniel down as he made his way immediately towards Hank. "I know you have to get this down by your session today."

"Yeah."

"How's it going?"

"Ummm… OK. I was thinking of taking a break," Grissom said heading out of the den.

"Well, stay here and keep working," Sara said. "I'll bring something to drink or a snack."

"That's OK."

With his back to her, Sara narrowed her eyes. She knew he was stalling, but he was a grown man. A stubborn grown man. "Come on Hank. Your shadow will follow."

The trio left the office single file, with Daniel gently holding onto Hank's tail. They found Grissom taking a stack of mail to the table. Sara scooped up Daniel and put him in the high chair next to his dad before heading to the refrigerator to grab items for a sandwich.

"Cheese sandwich OK?"

"BING! BA BA! BING!"

"I wasn't talking to you, Mr. Center of Attention. But, yes, I'll make you one," Sara said.

"When it comes to food, you are always talking to him," Grissom said, as he stood up to get Daniel's sippy cup and fill it with milk. "But I'll join him if you don't mind."

Sara nodded and constructed some sandwiches while Grissom returned to the table proffering the cup to his son. "So, were you able to get any work done?"

"Some," Grissom said returning his attention to the mail.

"If you need some help I can…"

"It's not anything you can help with, hon," Grissom interrupted. "You got a letter from your friend in Boston."

"Really? I've been so busy I've just stacked the mail for the last couple of days," Sara said as she buttered pieces of bread. "I know this is like a personal exercise, but if you need to talk things out before putting stuff on paper, I'm here to listen. Sometimes that can help even with personal stuff. I know you were kind of … I don't know what's the right word… Nervous? … No, more apprehensive about this whole thing. But I think you'll feel good about your decision to go to a longer group meeting."

Although Grissom had met with Oscar, his PTSD counselor a couple of times, he recommended that Grissom attend a mini-retreat session with other first responders — mostly cops and a couple of EMTs — who attend PTSD counseling sessions. Before the session, each member was given a writing exercise; write a letter of forgiveness. But it needed to be a letter written to themselves, and it was something that made Grissom exceedingly uncomfortable. It took several days for him to admit to Sara what the exercise even was. But after seeing him struggle for days and hours, he finally relented and told her.

While Sara thought it was a good idea for Grissom to cut himself a little slack, she knew the spectre of guilt weighed heavily upon him. She wanted to tread lightly about the subject because she didn't want him to shut down, but she still wanted to offer some encouragement.

"Maybe if you just write a couple of lines that might be enough for now," Sara continued. "Who knows? Maybe hearing others talk in a larger group will spark something for you while you are there. That might be the best thing, don't you think?"

She continued to flip the sandwiches and complete them. She took half a sandwich and cut it into pieces for Daniel and arranged it on his Blue's Clues plate. The banging of a small fist on the plastic high chair table made her realize Grissom hadn't responded to anything she said. She plated Grissom's sandwich and approached him. "Hey?"

Grissom kept his attention to a letter in his hands.

Sara set down Daniel's plate and looked curiously at the letter. "What's that?"

Finally Grissom looked up at Sara. He looked perplexed but also pale. "It's from the county of the clerk's office. We're being charged $3,298.56 for use of the ankle bracelet. If we don't pay, I could be marked as a re-offender."

"What?! Use of the bracelet?! Are you kidding? You were cleared of charges! They can't charge you for that."

Grissom bit his lip, careful not to yell at Sara. "Well, I guess they can." With a shaky hand, he passed her the letter then stood up to try and calm his nerves. "I'm out of work, the hospital bills are going to come in and now we have to come up with this money?"

Sara looked at the itemized bill. "These charges are outrageous. The daily fee is at least three times as much as usual, and so is the set-up fee. And I've never heard of a disposal fee before."

Grissom walked back over to her. "It says it was damaged. Water damaged."

"Bullshit," Sara said. "They're supposed to be waterproof. They're just screwing with us!"

"What do you mean the daily fee is three times as much? How would you know that?"

"I've seen bills for them," Sara said. "The range is pretty wide — $5 to as much as $45 — but these charges are way higher. And the set-up fee? That's maybe $200."

"You sure about that?" Grissom said, garnering a very annoyed look from Sara. "Listen, if you're sure than I want to do something about it."

Sara's expression changed. "You want me to look it up online? I'm sure I can find it somewhere."

"Yes. I would," Grissom said. "We can't afford this, Sara. I can't let what I did ruin us more than it has."

Sara let that go knowing where his mind was going. She had told him there and back that he didn't cause anything.

But maybe it would be better if he heard that from others who knew PTSD on a more personal level.

* * *

The phone intercom on Dana Osorio's desk rang, but she waited until she got two lines of text typed before she answered it. "Sorry, Kelly. I wanted to finish my thought before I answered."

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Ms. Osorio. I know you're trying get the brief done," said the lawyer's receptionist.

"I am," Dana replied. "Is something wrong?"

"I have Gil Grissom on the line. He sounds very nervous and angry."

"At you?"

"No, not at me. He's never rude at all, which is why I buzzed you," Kelly said. "He wants to talk to you and said it is really urgent."

Dana shook her head. She felt bad for the man who had been wrongfully imprisoned and almost lost his life in a horrific prison break. Formerly her father's client, Grissom retained Dana's services to reinstate his retirement, which had been quashed when he was wrongfully accused.

While Dana worked diligently for her client, her efforts had been stalled by the D.A.'s office, a hurdle she knew would be challenging to overcome. But she also knew it would take time and patience.

Something she most likely thought was running out of the Grissom household.

"Kelly, he's probably talking about his retirement plan, and I can't tell him any more progress…"

"No ma'am," Kelly said. "I don't mean to interrupt but he specifically said it wasn't about his retirement. It regarded a private matter and said it was urgent."

She did have to finish this brief, but Dana knew Kelly wouldn't have disturbed her if there wasn't something wrong. Like many good law receptionists, Kelly could pick up on whether a client was full of shit or full of angst. The tone of Kelly's voice — a mix of interest and compassion — let Dana know that Kelly believed Grissom was worried about something.

"You said he sounded nervous and angry."

"Yes, ma'am," Kelly said sympathetically. "He really sounds awful. If you want me to take a message I can."

Looking down at her watch, Dana noticed she still had two hours before her brief was due. She probably had time to take the call. If anything, she was curious and hoped nothing had happened to anyone in Grissom's family. "It's better I talk with him. Thank you, Kelly."

"Thank you. I'll patch you through."

The phone rang again, and Dana picked up the line. "Hi Gil. It's Dana. Kelly said you had some urgent news. What's going on?"

Dana listened to Grissom as he told her about the letter he received that was postmarked two days prior. He told her what the letter said, the demand for the funds due, and the threat of legal action against him if he didn't pay up. He also shared the information Sara found online about how the numbers they are charging Grissom are blatantly overpriced.

While Dana knew the price on the letter was moot because Grissom shouldn't be responsible for any charges period, she let him vent as much as he needed. One thing he said that struck her in the gut was, "I don't know why there is this vendetta against me. I wish I knew what I did. But … I just can't figure it out and I can't make this nightmare go away."

When he had come to a stopping point she spoke to him succinctly and calmly. "Gil, I'm sorry you got that letter and you did nothing to spur this. I know your mind is spinning 100 miles an hour, but for all we know this could be a boneheaded clerical error by some new intern in the accounting department. Either way, I'm going to get to the bottom of this, OK? Can you trust me on this?"

She felt thankful he said, "yes." She asked him to fax him whatever papers he wanted so she could have it in her files and he would do it right away from his home office.

"Fantastic. I'll look for those to come in soon," Dana said. "How is everything else at home? How is Sara and Daniel?"

Asking about them relieved a little tension from Grissom's voice, although the anxiety was still noticeable. Dana knew it would be best to deal with this situation as soon as possible. "Give them my regards, OK, Gil? … Alright. I'll talk to you soon."

After she got off the phone with Gil, Dana made a quick plan of action in her head. While reassuring Gil that the letter was a clerical error, in her own private thoughts, Dana was more skeptical of the action. What she didn't say to Grissom was the prompting for the action might have come from the district attorney's office. The letter's arrival was too close to the inquiries Dana had been making to Ladd Sayers' office about taking his foot off the brake of Grissom's retirement. This action smacked of some type of dirty pool trick to get Grissom to back down.

Or it could be a dumb clerical error.

But Dana doubted it. Yet, the question is why would Sayers stoop to such a blatantly vile tactic? Why does he want Grissom to go away quietly and empty-handed?

She wanted to find out, and right away. But she still had the brief to finish. She called in an assistant to her help knock out the brief, read it over with him once or twice and then leave it to him for editing and grammar check. Yet, before they got to work, Dana spoke with Kelly.

"I need you to use your contacts to get me today's schedule of Ladd Sayers whereabouts," Dana told the receptionist as she took notes. "I need to know exactly when he's going to be in his office."

As she took her notes, Dana could hear the fax machine receiving a fax. Undoubtedly from Grissom.


	61. Chapter 61

_A/N: Another awesome chapter by co-writer JellybeanChiChi. Thank you all for your reviews to last week's chapter - Im behind in my thanks with numerous appointments with my daughter._

* * *

CHAPTER 60

Sitting in the district attorney's outer offices, Dana Osorio looked at her watch for the seventh time. Her patience was wearing thin.

Her conversation with Grissom sparked her arrival at the offices. While she held a measured sense of urgency with her client, she went into high gear to get a brief completed so she could speak to Ladd Sayers as soon as possible.

Although she didn't have a formal appointment made with Sayers, she knew he was in his office. Her own secretary asked around and found he would be in his office by three, with no pending appointments for the rest of the day.

If that was the case, there was a possibility that he might stay late at the office or leave for home shortly after arriving at the office. Erring on the side of caution, Dana had gotten to the offices at 2:30 and had waited inconspicuously in the lobby by the attorney's entrance to catch when Sayers arrived.

Her tactic had worked. He had arrived at 2:55. And while she could have had corralled him right there at the entrance, she hadn't felt right about that. It would be one thing to try and gauge his whereabouts, but it would be another thing to blindside him in public among professional colleagues. That hadn't seemed right to Dana. It had almost felt like dirty pool and she couldn't know how he would respond to that, and he might respond sourly, which would ultimately hurt her client.

So, she had decided she would meet him in his office. She had even given him the space to take a different elevator to his floor, which had appropriated him a dozen steps in front of her into his office.

She had checked in with the front desk receptionist who was speaking with a secretary. Dana stated to the young man and older woman she needed 10 minutes of Sayers time and it was an urgent matter dealing with her client Gil Grissom. While the receptionist was ready to give Dana the brush off, the woman, Nicole Palmieri, introduced herself and led her to an inner lobby outside three lawyer offices, including Sayers' office. Pleasant and professional, she went into his office to check his availability. She arrived back at her own desk a foot from the waiting chairs to say he would be out momentarily.

But that moment stretched into 23 minutes. Dana was now reevaluating whether corralling him in the lobby was the better tactic after all.

No sooner had she thought that when a man exited Sayers' office.

Unfortunately, the man wasn't Sayers.

"Ms. Osorio, my name is Edmund Flanagan."

"Hello. It's nice to meet you, but I don't think I need an escort into Mr. Sayers' office," Dana said with a congenial, but pointed tone.

Flanagan picked up on it immediately. "Well, actually, perhaps we can talk in my office. I had been working the case against Patrick Davies, so any questions about that is under my purview."

"Hold on," Dana said. Sure, it pissed her off she was being passed over for a junior D.A., but it pissed her off more that they made her wait almost half an hour before going through some bullshit. "My client is not Patrick Davies."

"No," Flanagan started. "It's Gil Grissom. I understand that. So, if we could move into my office to discuss…"

While Dana mentally tried to process the connection between Patrick Davies and Grissom, she stood firm where she was. "Mr. Flanagan, clearly there is a misconstrued assumption of why I am here. I appreciate you wanting to offer your time to me, but I don't think you can help me in any capacity, unless you are the person behind withholding my client's pension and charging him an obscene amount of money for monitoring."

To an untrained eye, the look on Flanagan's face would tell very little. But to a fellow attorney, Dana could see a flicker of a look in which he was thrown to the wolves by upper management.

But he still stayed cool and toed the line. "Ms. Osorio, I believe you are correct as I do not understand your arguments in regard to your client. While impassioned, I am also going to guess it is misdirected towards this office."

"Well, I'll never know for sure until I talk to Mr. Sayers, who I know is in his office," Dana said. "Again, I respect you offering the time, but I'm not going to waste your time and mine. Mr. Sayers has categorically avoided me through alternative correspondence. Zero responses to emails and phone calls and a canceled appointment. This has to end, hence my proactive stance of coming to the office with full knowledge he has no meetings and he is indeed here."

"He's not here."

"Excuse me."

"He was here but has since left while we were talking."

Dana gave Flanagan a look that could only be described as annoyed skepticism. "I had no idea that the D.A.'s office had a teleportation device. Can I secure a time to get to the south of Chile and Argentina? I love penguins but hate long air travel."

"Funny," Flanagan said, neither responding or offering any more leeway for a conversation. "Nicole will be happy to get you an appointment."

"I'm going in there."

"Don't." Flanagan put a hand up and stood firm in front of Dana. "Look behind you." She did, and she saw two security officers. She knew Flanagan didn't call them, but Sayers probably did. Which confirmed he was in his office.

"Really? How am I a threat?"

Flanagan lowered his voice. "I am offering this professional courtesy. Just make an appointment. I will do what I can to ensure he makes the appointment."

Dana took a deep breath and kept her eyes on him. "Fine. Call off the dogs."

Flanagan nodded the guards off, and when they left, he went into his office without a goodbye.

Once alone, Dana allowed her shoulders to slump. She felt a little defeated, but no sooner had the feeling struck that she squared her shoulders again and turned toward Nicole's desk. With a smile, she asked. "Could I get an appointment with Ladd Sayers?"

Nicole offered a look of sympathy. "Let me take a look Ms. Osorio. Perhaps a half hour block is available in a few days."

As the secretary worked, Dana leaned against the desk and said under her breath, "I should have just cornered him downstairs when I had the chance."

Although she said it to no one in particular, Nicole could not contain the small smile. "I think we can get you something early next week. In four days' time."

"Let me check my schedule," Dana said.

As she did, Nicole perked her head up. "You know, sometimes a proverbial waterhole can be a good place to get things accomplished."

Dana snickered, knowing Nicole was addressing her under-the-breath comment. "I'm sure it can."

"Have you heard of Holy Roasters? Wonderful place to get a nice coffee drink or lovely tea or even abide a sweet tooth after a stressful day at the office. Or maybe a glass of wine in the evenings. But the place is perfect after 5:30. Not too many people before the evening wine crowd."

Dana looked over her shoulder. The two were the only ones around. "Holy Roasters? That's in Henderson, right?"

Nicole nodded. "So, you want that 11:30 a.m. on Tuesday next week?"

"I would. Thank you."

* * *

"I cannot believe you actually cornered that man in the parking lot of his mistress' apartment complex," Dana said as she and her father, Wilbur Jacobsen, sat at a table in Holy Roasters coffee shop and Wine Bar in Henderson.

"Well, I did what I had to do," Jacobsen said with a wink. "Sometimes you have to take matters in your own hand."

"Yeah, but that was cold, Wilbur," Dana said in jest to her father. "Dare I say ballsy?"

"That mouth," Jacobsen said as he sipped his coffee. "But… yes, I will concur it took a fair amount of balls."

She raised glass of a power trio smoothie with wheat grass to her father, who in turn raised his cup of joe. "Cheers pops."

"Next time don't hesitate about approaching him before the office. Elevators make for captive audiences."

"Literally," Dana said as she looked towards the door.

Jacobsen followed his daughter's gaze to the door seeing a single woman arrive. He then looked around the shop. They had been there for about 20 minutes and while there was a rush when they first arrived, it died down to just a handful of patrons spread around the place. Along with coffee, the establishment offered sandwiches, baked goods, boba tea, hot and cold tea drinks and high-end juice smoothies frozen or with yogurt, and after 5 p.m. it opens up its wine bar to patrons until midnight.

The two came to Holy Roasters in hopes of seeing Ladd Sayers. Dana's less than productive visit to the D.A.'s office did lead to a couple of interesting things. A tip that Sayers might be at Holy Roasters around 5 p.m., and that a junior D.A. approached Dana thinking as Grissom's lawyer she would want to know something about a man named Patrick Davies.

Which is why she contacted her father. While she didn't recognize the name, she thought he might since he served as Grissom's lawyer first.

And Jacobsen did know the name Patrick Davies. It was the name of the accused murderer of Jake Sullivan, a name Sayers hid from the defense attorney despite still trying to charge Grissom with the same murder. A fact so egregious that Jacobsen held no remorse in confronting Sayers about it while he parked his Mercedes in the parking lot of his mistress.

"I don't know Dana. Maybe Sayers will be here around 6:30 before, wine crowd rush at 7," Jacobsen proposed. He remembered how Sayers had a bottle of wine with him on his way to the mistress' apartment. "Or maybe not. He could just come in and buy a bottle of wine and leave from here to another place, if you know what I mean."

Jacobsen waggled his eyes to make a point, but noticed his daughter was paying no attention to him. Instead was looking toward the counter. "Dana? What's up?"

She took two more seconds staring at the counter, then turned to her father. "I was wrong about Sayers, pops."

"What are you talking about?"

Just then, the woman who recently entered the establishment sat at the booth past the couple in a more secluded corner. Dana picked up her drink and gestured for her father to do the same. She whispered something to her father as they got up and approached the booth.

"Hello," Dana said in a private tone.

The woman gave a soft smile of recognition. "Hello there."

"Nicole?"

Yes. Dana."

"You remembered."

"Of course."

"Well, this is my father, Wilbur."

"Wilbur Jacobsen," the gentleman said extending his hand for a shake.

"I recognize the name. I didn't know there was any relation," the woman said as she shook his hand. "Nicole Palmieri. Would you two like to join me?"

"You're not expecting company?" Dana asked.

"Nope. I like to call Holy Roasters my little secret."

"Well, we would love to, Ms. Palmieri," Jacobsen said, already knowing from his daughter she was the secretary in the D.A.'s office. "This is quite kind of you."

"I'm not sure if I would use the word kind."

"So why the invitation?" Dana asked. "If you don't mind me asking."

"I don't mind," said Nicole, a woman in her 60s who looked a decade younger. "For the past couple of months I've been dismayed at the actions of a member of the D.A.'s office toward someone I know, and if there is information that can help you both help Gil, then I need to be candid with what I know."

"You called Mr. Grissom by his first name," Jacobsen said. "You and he know each other?"

"You could say we formed a bond thanks to my daughter," Palmieri said. "She had a host of special needs and met at her school where he volunteered with a science fair. He used to tutor her in high school and college-level science and encouraged her to study forensics. He was a huge influence on her life. I remember he invited her a few times to see his lab."

"Did she study forensics?" Dana asked.

"She did," Nicole said. "But like I said she had a host of special needs, including medical needs. She passed away about three years after they met."

"I'm so sorry," Dana said.

"It was a blessing to have her with us as long as we did," Nicole said with a sad smile. "I know people change, but when I heard about the charges against Gil, I thought it could not possibly be him. I told you there were times we visited the lab, and I could tell by his body language that he had terrible shifts, but he would muster a smile and energy for Kara no matter what."

"I've always found him to be a genuine person," Jacobsen said. "But I have to say I never knew that he volunteered."

"I'm sure he kept it to himself," Nicole said. "He never seemed like a showy man."

"When was the last time you talked to him?" Dana asked.

"Oh… maybe two years ago. Around the time of the fifth anniversary after Kara died," Nicole said. "I saw him at a pizza shop. He looked as tired as he did when I visited the lab, but we chatted for probably two hours about all kinds of things. Work. Life. What not. And one thing he kept saying was how much he admired me as a parent. How no matter what, a parent secures the happiness of his child. That man has a baby boy now, and there is no way he would jeopardize that boy's happiness by going to jail. Not to mention that Gil fought murderers his whole career. Why would he ever become one?"

"I couldn't put it better myself, Ms. Palmieri," Jacobsen said. "While I'm glad you know Gil…"

"You want to know what I know," Nicole said finishing Jacobsen's thought. "Let's get down to the nitty gritty."

Dana reached her hand across the booth. "I'm all for that, but for whatever it's worth, I appreciate you going on a limb here. I know you aren't just here to give accolades to Gil Grissom. And what you might offer could jeopardize your job."

Nicole smiled and squeezed Dana's hand before letting go. "I'm a big girl and one that is looking toward retirement. This isn't just about helping someone who helped my daughter. It's about what's right." She took a swig of her drink before continuing. ""I believe Ladd Sayers is behind the nonsense you laid out today in the office, Ms. Osorio."

"You mean about Sayers withholding pension benefits and overcharging monitoring?"

"That's correct. And I don't think it's for vengeance, if that might be on your mind. I think it is totally for vanity's sake."


	62. Chapter 62

_A/N: Jellybean and I apologise for the delay in chapters, once again. The trials of life away from the computer can indeed be trials at times. Kudos to co-writer, Jellybean, for this powerful chapter. We can't give a time frame of when the next chapter will be, but we are grateful for your continued interest and patience._

* * *

Chapter 61

"It took me a long time to realize how the stress I felt inside was affecting everything in my life. My relationships. My mental state. My drive. I mean it's not like I didn't realize that something was wrong… something was off… I was off… but I figured if I worked myself to the bone I could control what was happening. But it didn't change what happened. I mean putting an experience in your own rear-view mirror doesn't mean it's not still following you around. … Jesus… I sound like one of those fucking self-help books getting promoted on Dr. Oz. Thanks a lot, Oscar."

The comment made the group of seven laugh, the loudest laugh coming from Oscar Jimenez. He served as the counselor and moderator of the group session of first responders who suffer from post trauma stress. They were all active duty officers, save one — Grissom. As a former CSI, Oscar encouraged Grissom to participate in the group.

"So Tim," Oscar started, "that realization shows a lot of progress."

"But it's not like something's really changed."

"Yeah, cause you still work like a dog, I'm sure."

"Yeah."

"But do you want to?" Oscar asked.

Tim offered a reflective face and took a couple of beats before answering. "I … I don't think I do. I mean. My blood pressure is up and I've been told I'm a total dick." Again, Tim gave the group a laugh. "But yeah, I … I think I'm at the point where I want to move forward instead of in some kind of black hole or something." Although he said the last comment with the utmost sincerity, Tim shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Goddammit, Oscar, you are turning me into such a fucking inspiration porn pussy."

"That's bullshit and you know it," Oscar said with a smile. "You're doing good, Tim. What do you all think?"

The group offered various words of encouragement and support. Along with getting the law enforcement professionals who are known to bottle up their feelings and emotions to open it, the support from a community of people who understand their stressors and situations was equally important. Although he blushed a bit, Tim let out a breath he was holding and it was obvious he appreciated the kind words.

Feeling the natural lull in the room, Oscar put a supportive hand on Tim's shoulder. "You got some more to add Tim, or are you due in the Oz studio?" Oscar said in jest.

Tim laughed. "I'm good, Oscar. Someone else should take the floor."

With that comment, Oscar cast his glance in the direction of the two people who had yet to share — Grissom and Rhetta, a sergeant with the Clark County Sheriff and the only female in the group.

The two stared at each other in a mock, stern stare, trying to conceal their smiles at being a bit uncomfortable sharing. Grissom broke the silence, "As a gentleman, I should offer ladies…"

"Do not give me that 'ladies first' bullshit," Rhetta interrupted. "We're all cops here. We deal this the fair way. RPS."

Grissom had several fond memories of members of his team employing "Rock, Paper, Scissors" to decide who gets what. Assignments, last slice of pizza, dumpster diving. So it made sense to settle the present quandary in such a manner.

Both Grissom and Rhetta moved their fists in unison as they said aloud, "Rock, paper, scissors, shoot."

Grissom put his hand out flat for paper, hoping Rhetta would produce a rock. But two of her fingers were extended like scissors.

"HA!" Rhetta exclaimed.

"Best two outta threes?"

"Ah, no. You're next, Gil," Rhetta said, leaning back in her chair. "And, FYI, you had paper written all over your face."

"I did?" Grissom replied, hoping she would offer an explanation to stall a few moments longer.

But she keep quiet, as did the rest of the group.

"I guess that's that," Grissom said with a sigh.

"This is your time, Gil," Oscar said compassionately. "Remember, we all checked our egos at the door. We're here to offer support, if nothing else, but no judgments, OK?"

It wasn't an easy decision for Grissom to arrive for the mini-retreat, as it was promoted. He had only had a few sessions with Jimenez, and felt like he was in a group that had more counseling experience. But he quickly learned that wasn't the case, when each member introduced himself to the group.

"You look uncomfortable," Oscar said. "What can we do to help with any anxiety?"

"At the risk of sounding cliche, it's not you, it's me," Grissom started, putting a nervous hand through his hair. "I suppose, if I'm being honest, being in the room with you all… you all in law enforcement, makes me feel like I'm overstepping my bounds because… well, I'm not a CSI anymore. And I know how important that bond among members is. How you understand the issues and problems with the avocation. And I feel like … I'm intruding on that."

Oscar nodded his head, not so much in agreement, but to let him know that Grissom was heard. "OK, Gil. Thanks for expressing that. I'm going to open it up to the group. Is he intruding?"

Each member of the group shook their head in the negative, some of them voicing their dissent to the opinion.

"There's no reason to feel like that," one officer about Grissom's age said. "I'm getting ready to retire soon and that's not going to make me any less of a cop. Besides, Oscar wouldn't have invited you to this funfest if you didn't fit in."

"He's right," Rhetta said. "I think only a member in law enforcement could even understand about the bond you were talking about. And it doesn't matter if you retired or not."

"You understand the bond, that makes you law enforcement for life," another person said.

"I appreciate that, I truly do," Grissom said, waiting another beat before continuing. "But I'm not sure you're going to think that if I share what happened, what I was accused of…"

His voice faded out, and Oscar took over for a short moment. "Gil, no one's going to pressure you to talk, but this is a perfect opportunity to test that perspective with law enforcement who don't know you and aren't intimate with your situation. Use this time as a measure of testing whether that thinking that's engrossing your mind has credence. You have a captive audience here. Literally."

The comment once again garnered chuckles, even from Grissom. "I don't want to seem ungrateful to be with you all… I just…" He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. In a distant part of his subconscious, he could hear Rory Dunbar's mocking voice. " _They'll turn on you like everyone else has because you don't deserve to be among them."_

Since meeting with Oscar, he had worked to silence or ignore Rory's voice as best as possible, using exercise Oscar suggested. He employed them at that moment and realized the best way to silence the voice was to defy it by speaking his mind out loud.

"I was accused of the brutal murder of a man who antagonized me and my wife. An investigation led by members of my former CSI team resulted in me being incarcerated in prison for roughly two months. I was recognized by an inmate who beat me twice. During a prison transfer I was kidnapped by an inmate who held a grudge against me. He was the former Clark County sheriff who had been put in jail for his role in kidnapping my wife last year."

He glanced up to evaluate the looks around the room. He only saw Rhetta, who seemed to sit up straighter in her chair.

"I … ah… I've talked about the situation a lot with Oscar … I still have a hard time thinking that I didn't have a hand in what happened to me… Even as elaborate as the plan against me was… I still struggle… with … with responsibility. My responsibility."

Grissom would pause, sometimes lost in a thought, sometimes to regain his voice. "But, one of the things about this… whole… ordeal … that Oscar asked me to reflect upon was my feelings about being the center of an investigation… and… my team, well, my former team… I know you say law enforcement for life, and I always thought that too… but … that is something that can be tested. And I know people who served in uniform who lost that … courtesy of being in this fraternity because of some awful actions. … I just never thought I would be considered one of those exempt people."

"But you were exonerated," Oscar said during Grissom's pause.

"Yes," Grissom said, only keeping his eyes on Oscar.

"Yet you still seem to think that helped nothing concerning your situation among your peers."

"My former peers," Grissom clarified.

"Wait a minute," said one of the other men in the group. "How long did you work with that crew?"

"I've know some of them for 20 years, others more than a decade, depending on when they arrived," Grissom said.

"Oscar, it OK if I voice an opinion?"

Oscar shrugged then nodded toward Grissom. "You OK with that, Gil?"

"Yes… please."

"Look, just because you retired from your position doesn't … I don't know… erase all those years."

"I appreciate that, but do you think you would be saying that if you thought I commited the murder?" Grissom asked. "Because… many did. Maybe even most of the people at the lab."

"You know that for sure?" Rhetta asked.

Grissom paused. "I don't know about everyone in the lab, but I know how the gossip mill works, and how powerful it can be for those who might not work with you closely. From the way my wife was treated and got more than her share of unfair judgments and stares, I can assume the gossip worked well."

Rhetta's nod was one of absolute agreement. "Yeah, OK. That I get. Trust me on that one."

"But you also had colleagues you were closer to, isn't that right, Gil?" Jimenez said. "That's what I wanted to talk about. That's what I wanted to explore. How you have handled the case and what's happened since when you think about the people who were close to you?"

Grissom's posture slumped in his chair. He held both hands in his lap. "I was in the hospital after I was released and murder charges were dropped. I … fell at the house. Stupid." Grissom shook his head at the memory. "I got an unexpected visit from my friend, Jim, who is a long-time officer. We have known each other for years. He was the first person I had worked closely with to see me after I went to prison — other than my wife. He said he didn't believe I did it. And … I don't know, when he said that, it seemed like he was leaving out something else. Like Jim didn't believe I did it despite what our other friends thought. … But I didn't know if that was a fair assumption. I had to investigate an incident that involved Jim, and while my conclusions put him in the clear, I of course had to be impartial and make sure my feelings didn't enter into account. It was an enormous relief to know there was no evidence of malfeasance."

Without him consciously being aware of it, Grissom's voice had trailed off and he became silent. Lost in a thought. Lost in a memory. His face became a little unreadable, although it would be hard to discount any sorrow since it was so present in his voice.

Oscar got from his seat and nudged Grissom's good knee. "Gil, bud, you still with us?"

Grissom swallowed a lump in his throat. His face was now readable, and it showed bitterness. "Yeah. Sorry."

"It's cool," Jimenez said. "What's going on, Gil? Give voice to it."

"They didn't do enough," Grissom said to a completely silent room. "And hearing myself say that makes me feel childish. Like I'm saying, 'They didn't play fair.'" Grissom's left fist was poised on his knee in a tight ball.

This was the place Jimenez hoped Grissom would explore. The reality that he might have feelings of disappointment and betrayal against people he worked with, served and mentored. The therapist knew there were feelings locked up. But now they had to be dealt with in a healthy manner. "It's not childish, Gil" Jimenez said. "It's not like your friends stole your bike."

"Yeah, you're right," Grissom said. "I lost a lot more than a bike."

"Yeah, you did," Jimenez confirmed. "It's also natural to want to question how your closest colleagues could think you committed murder."

Reason warred within Grissom. Would he have reacted and looked at the evidence the same way if he was investigating Nick or Warrick or Catherine for the murder? A part of him never wants to second guess.

Another part can do nothing but evaluate their missteps.

"It was their job to come to a conclusion without bias. And I understand that. I have to respect that," he replied distantly. "But I cannot shake the feeling that they saw this as a test about their ability to remain unbiased. So much so that they were willing to see me as guilty right away. So much so they were willing to take the evidence at first blush."

The silence in the room made Grissom a little uncomfortable. Would these law-enforcement professionals think that last comment was an insult? Did he think it was an insult to his own sense of what the job was for him for decades?

"I know what that sounds like. Monday morning quarterback. A bitter suspect. But…" Grissom put his hand through his hair knowing it was shaking. "Those damn shoes."

Jimenez understood what Grissom was talking about but knew the rest of the people in the room did not. "You're talking about the boots, right Gil?" Grissom nodded distractedly. "It was a member of your former crew who found those boots at your house. Theorized they were used at the crime scene."

"And they were used at the crime scene," Grissom said, his voice angry and ratcheting with each word. "Those chewed up shoes that were no longer usable and had been thrown in the trash earlier that week were used at a crime scene. They — people I knew and knew well — were willing to believe of all the shoes I wore to take a midnight stroll with my dog, I choose those. And after killing a man 15 years my junior with my bare hands with my dog at my side and apparently not barking at all, I put my shoes, and no other garments, in my own trash can." The sad chuckle that escaped his mouth was devoid of any humour. "You know, if I was that stupid to do all that stuff, then I would deserve the jail time. But I'm not that stupid. Or that malicious. Or that reckless. Or that immoral. Or that violent.

"But apparently they didn't think that," he continued. "They didn't invite enough afterthought. Instead, they fit the evidence in the box that made them seem unbiased and fit the DA's conclusion to a tee."

His anger caused his face to become red and he could feel it. The adrenaline of voices his accusations made him feel defeated more than empowered. Especially when he realized just how quiet it was in the room.

"I'm sorry," he said. "That's… exactly why I thought I would be overstepping my boundaries. This probably sounds like sour grapes from someone no longer in law enforcement."

"You're honestly sharing your feelings, Gil," Jimenez was quick to say. "Nothing to be sorry about. Remember, we're here to support, not judge."

The murmurs in the room affirmed Jimenez's stated in muted voices. But there was one person that spoke in anything but a muted voice.

"I think it took balls to say what you did," Rhetta said as she looked straight at Grissom. "Yeah, we're all cops, but that doesn't mean everyone we work with is an angel and that everyone you work with made the right decisions or makes any decisions for the right reasons. I sure as hell know colleagues who make shitty decisions that affect a lot of people, including me."

"Thanks," Grissom said sincerely. "I'm sorry if you've faced any conflicts."

Rhetta nodded her head, then looked towards Jimenez. "When Gil's done, I'm ready to talk."

"Gil, how you feeling?" Jimenez asked.

"It's Rhetta's turn," he said, ignoring the question but more than willing to pass off the spotlight.

With that, Rhetta reached over and patted Grissom's arm in a supportive, friendly manner. Then she proceeded to speak about the high level of harassment and discrimination she has felt at the hands of other officers. Through it all, she kept her composure and the men in the room keep rapt attention.


	63. Chapter 63

_A/N: Sincere apologies from Jelly and myself, for the long break between chapters. Life away from the computer got in the way, for quite some time. Jelly is working on chapters behind the scenes, and we hope to have this finished soon. Not sure on how many chapters there will be, but the end is in sight. Co-writer Jelly, did a fantastic job on this chapter, as per usual. And if my preview of the next chapter is anything to go by, you won;t be disappointed. I can't predict when the next chapter wil be ready, but this story_ will _be finished, and not just left hanging_

* * *

CHAPTER 62

Grissom kept his attention to the cup of lukewarm coffee in his hands. He knew he had been seated in a corner away from other members of the group session for a long while.

After an open, and sometimes raw sharing session, it was impossible to fight the overwhelming urge to retreat. Into a corner. Into himself.

He knew he couldn't physically meld into the paint of the walls behind him; decades of experience taught him that miraculous dream was an absolute falacy. Yet, he still sought a refuge not unlike a cornered spider.

Different members of the group mingled in and out of the area. Only a few of them would look Grissom's way. It made him feel a tinge of regret for sharing his feelings about his former team. Did these dedicated law enforcement professionals see him as a traitor to the cause? He sighed as his head fell forward a little more.

It was at the time, he heard a faint whistle - more like a "psst" one might hear in a library. He turned to the muted noise and his eyes found those of Rhetta's - the sheriff's deputy who shared after him. She gave him a smile and a wink before drifting to another area.

She had been speaking with a counselor and Oscar Jimenez, who nodded towards Grissom. Seeing Grissom nod back the therapist made his way to Grissom's corner. He grabbed a chair and sat across from him before reaching out to tap Grissom on the thigh.

"Holding up OK?" Jimenez asked.

Grissom shrugged. "I suppose so."

"You look stressed man," Jimenez said. "It's just us here. Let's talk."

Grissom looked around and it was true, no one else was in the room. "I don't know Oscar. I don't know if I should have said the things I did back there."

"Why? Because you were breaking some kind of bro code among cops," Jimenez said, practically reading Grissom's mind, until he reminded the former CSI, "You mentioned that when you were talking. You still feel that?"

"It's hard to let go of that feeling."

Jimenez nodded his head. "OK. I get it. I don't agree with you and I don't think the group did either, but I do get it, man." The two sat in silence for a beat before Jimenez spoke again. "You know, Grissom, one of the things I've learned about law enforcement and first responders is that being a cop or a CSI or an MET is pretty damn important to establishing your identity. Sometimes to a point where some people can't see themselves beyond that identity. And when the job is gone, sometimes that identity is gone too."

Grissom raised his eyebrow and stammered for a response. "I … I'm not a CSI anymore. Period."

"Do you feel like since you're not a CSI that you've lost a big part of your identity?"

Grissom looked down at his coffee cup. He did. He didn't want to admit it, but he did.

Despite not hearing a word from him, Jimenez could understand Grissom's thoughts. "It's not unnatural to feel that, Grissom."

"So are you saying I need to continue to identify as a CSI?"

Jimenez shrugged. "Actually, I'd rather you identify with what made you a good CSI."

"You don't know I was a good CSI."

Jimenez let out a chuckle. "Look if you're being humble, you don't have to because I know that's bullshit. But, OK, think about good traits and traits that maybe held you back as a CSI." The therapist watched as Grissom twirled his Styrofoam coffee cup. "All those traits are a part of you. Maybe some of the bad ones have dwindled. Maybe some of them are being stubborn and you're working on them."

This time Jimenez got a nod, which he took as a slight victory. "Yes, you were a CSI, and yes, you're not a CSI now. But that's not what you only were and it's still a part of you now that you don't clock in and out every day."

Grissom looked up at Jimenez and nodded his head. "So you're saying it's not about being a CSI."

"Yeah. That's what I'm saying," Jimenez said with a soft smile. "And, you have to know, it never has been about being a CSI. It's always been about who is Gil Grissom. And a few months ago, Gil Grissom was falsely put behind bars and fought like hell to get out."

"I was fortunate," Grissom said darkly, softly.

"Hell ya you were," Jimenez agreed solemnly. "But that doesn't mean you didn't demonstrate courage."

"There were plenty of times I wanted to give up."

"I'm sure. But you didn't. That's a trait I'm sure you demonstrated as a CSI and you still demonstrate today." Jimenez could tell that comment fell on deaf ears, but he needed to press that point home. "You know, I'm not sure if you were aware, but Rhetta is a real ball buster."

Grissom smiled at that. "I'm sure she's a helluva deputy. Tough."

"Damn straight. What did you think about what she shared?"

Grissom shook his head. "It was … something. Makes me realize she's even more amazing."

"Yeah," Jimenez said, allowing that comment to settle for a moment or two before continuing. "I cannot tell you how long she has held in those feelings, those situations, those revelations. Hearing her give voice to that, for me, was fantastic because ultimately, it's going to make a strong woman even stronger."

"It seemed like she was letting go of a huge weight," Grissom said.

"Yeah, and she might not have done that if you hadn't shared your own story," Jimenez said, seeing Grissom give him a confused face. "Knowing you were willing to open up about wrongdoing from law enforcement gave her incentive. If anything, at least one person in that room would be on her side."

"Well," Grissom started softly, "if it helped her, then I'm glad I spoke up."

"Since you and me have been meeting, you've talked about a lot of tough things going on in your head, man — you're in this limbo of who you are, what you lost and who you think you should be," Jimenez said. "But I need you to realize, you possess this foundation of courage and compassion that hasn't gone anywhere. It's a part of your make-up, no matter what happens or has happened to you."

Grissom returned to a slumped position, but almost immediately felt the need to stand up. He painfully pushed himself into a standing position as he leaned on his cane. "I appreciate what you say. I truly do, Oscar. But… I'm over 50 with no job, but I have another child on the way. My wife is overworked and been through far too much stress…" His voice faltered and he struggled not to break down in tears. "I don't just feel like I'm in limbo, I feel like I'm in a burning building and I can do nothing to protect my family."

Jimenez stood up and put his hands on Grissom's shoulders. "You did nothing wrong, man. You can do this."

Grissom pursed his lips and turned to get out of the therapists grip. But it was barely a struggle when Jimenez pulled Grissom into a hug.


End file.
